Cause and Effect
by dysprositos
Summary: Sequel to "Just a Tool." When Tony aired SHIELD's dirty laundry, he was only trying to get Bruce out of their custody. But all actions have consequences. Sometimes they go far beyond what you could have ever predicted. And sometimes, they're more than you can handle. Now, Loki's back, and he has a plan. SHIELD's his target...or maybe it's actually Bruce.
1. Homecoming

Hello, and welcome to "Cause and Effect," the not-so-long awaited sequel to "Just a Tool."

Warnings: language, mention of self-injury, general jerkiness on the part of several different individuals.

Thanks to my beta, irite, for assuring me that this was not terrible, despite my 69% certainty that it was.

It might be worth mentioning that I do not intend this story to contain romance of any variety. It's _really_ not my thing.

I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

No one would _ever _describe Tony Stark as "patient."

In general, he did not take waiting well.

And he knew when he had started this whole thing with SHIELD (although, in his opinion, they had made the first move) that it was going to take time. Maybe even a lot of time. The federal government never really hurried with _anything_, and when it came to investigating an agency that they were reluctant to admit existed, they were going to drag their feet even more than normal.

Tony _knew _that when he went public with his accusations that SHIELD was engaging in some pretty shady business. He knew, before he stepped forward, that it would be awhile before he could put all of this behind him. He had accepted it, really he had.

He just hadn't imagined it would take _this _long.

It had been just over nine months since the story had dropped. And Tony could say, with almost complete certainty, that it had been the worst nine months of his life. Because it had been nine months of waiting. And watching. Both things that he hated.

The first night, after he'd managed to break away from the press, Tony had slipped up to his penthouse and poured himself a glass of scotch. It had been a miserably long day, full of interviews, depositions, hearings, and sworn statements. He was exhausted and pissed off and ready to drink himself into oblivion, except he had to be up at 5:00 AM to do the whole miserably long day over again. He'd been slumped over in a chair, considering the pros and cons of slaughtering his brain cells en masse despite his early morning commitments, when his phone rang.

It was Fury, of course.

"Stark. Do you _really _want to do this?"

Well, of course he didn't. This was guaranteed to be a shit show, one that was going to last for months (though he didn't know that, yet), one that would change his life massively and irrevocably (though he didn't know that, either). He didn't want to do this. But he didn't have a _choice_.

Because SHIELD and the World Security Council had stepped _way _over the line.

Almost a month before, SHIELD had called upon the Avengers to prevent an alien invasion. The Svartálfar, a race of something akin to dwarves, had been seeking an object that Loki had sent to Earth prior to his attempt at world domination. The object, which simply looked like a glowing sphere, allowed someone capable of using magic to basically do whatever he or she wanted, regardless of the natural laws governing what should be possible. It was an immensely desirable trinket, and an immensely dangerous one. Because of an error in its construction, it had been rendered unstable, and anyone attempting to use it risked ripping reality into shreds.

Loki had helped them plan for their defense against the invasion, had helped them figure out how to disable the sphere. Ultimately, though, he had betrayed them and made off with the object at the last minute.

Which would have been bad enough, except before going, he set in motion a truly unfortunate chain of events involving Dr. Bruce Banner.

Bruce hadn't even wanted to be involved with the whole scenario. He wasn't comfortable with his place as an 'Avenger.' He viewed his tendency to turn into an uncontrollable rage monster to be more of a hazard than a superpower, and felt that the potential for something to go wrong, the potential for him to hurt someone unintentionally while in that form, was too high. In fact, he was so desperate to avoid that transformation altogether that he had turned to some truly unhealthy methods of dealing with it. Tony had inadvertently discovered that Bruce had been injuring himself to release endorphins—the body's natural painkillers. Doing so could stop the transformation in its tracks.

As troubling as that was, it was only a symptom of something more insidious. Bruce had, apparently, lost all sense of self-worth, had become mired in a self-loathing so complete that he hadn't even been aware of it until Tony had pointed it out to him. And that self-loathing held him hostage, unable to act for his own benefit, to care for his own well being, in any way.

That was how Bruce had ended up agreeing to help SHIELD, despite having voiced his concerns, despite his entirely logical reservations. He had, with Tony's support, declared that it would be the _last _time he did so, though, having fully intended to step away from doing something that he hated.

It had been definite progress.

But then Loki had come along and fucked everything up.

Bruce (well, really, the Other Guy) had been assigned to guard the God of Mischief during a crucial part of the plan to disarm the magical trinket. Loki had taken advantage of that, leading the Hulk on a chase through the forest, drawing him straight towards a regiment of the United States Army that had been called up to deal with the alien issue. The Hulk, as it turned out, was not overly fond of the military, and after a tense standoff, things went south.

But it could have gone a lot worse. SHIELD had been developing, for some time, a new tranquilizer aimed at subduing the Hulk. They had moved it into the field testing phase with no hesitation. And it worked. As awful as being tranquilized was, even Tony had to concede that it was better than going on a rampage and killing 3000 soldiers. He knew Bruce would have agreed with that as well.

It _should _have ended there. Except the colonel in charge of the regiment had taken issue with the Hulk's reaction to the military presence, and had put in a complaint about Fury's methods. One thing led to another, and the World Security Council got involved. Their inquiry into the matter turned up some pretty damning information regarding Bruce's recent behavior and mental state, and they had decided that he was too much of a risk to be allowed to remain free.

While Bruce was still sedated, someone from the Council stole him away, taking him to SHIELD's secure medical facility and, as Tony had later discovered, cuffing him to a bed and drugging him out of his mind.

Tony didn't know what they did to Bruce for the three days he was in their custody, but by the time Tony had put together a rescue mission, Bruce was so fucked in the head that he had decided that being drugged and restrained was exactly what he deserved. He demanded that the Avengers leave him there, since SHIELD and the Council were just 'doing their job.' Under heavy fire from SHIELD's security forces, they hadn't had much of a choice.

So Tony _did _leave him there. And he hated himself for it.

But he had promised Bruce that he would get him out. And so he would. He had considered a number of different options. In the end, taking SHIELD down was the only one that he knew, for sure, would work. Because SHIELD had fucked with him so badly, Bruce wasn't going to leave until they said he could. And how fucked up was that?

After all of that, 'this' was something Tony_ had _to do.

"Well, director, I wouldn't say that I _want _to do this. But I can't deny that I'm finding it really fucking satisfying."

"Sure, Stark. Whatever. You know, we don't want you as our enemy—"

"You should have thought of that before now, Fury. I mean, come on. Really?" With that, Tony hung up the phone and finished his drink in one swallow. He couldn't deal with this shit. Not right now.

That was the last time he'd heard from SHIELD directly.

The next morning, his lawyers had called to tell him that SHIELD was filing charges against him, claiming that he'd hacked their servers.

_So much for not wanting me as an enemy_, he'd thought.

They were right, of course. He _had_ hacked their servers, and it hadn't even been _hard_.

It took what he assumed was some really clever work on the part of his lawyers (honestly, he hadn't even really bothered to pay attention), but within a week those charges had disappeared. Tony couldn't help but feel a little smug.

His satisfaction at that initial victory was short-lived. Because the next several weeks went by with no real progress in the investigation. In fact, it took almost three months for the next big break.

The investigation had uncovered how many people SHIELD was currently keeping in their custody without trials. When the public heard the exact number, there was a huge outcry. The call for their immediate release was deafening. But SHIELD objected, pointing out that they only held those people who were, for one reason or another, too dangerous for a general prison population, or people who needed to be kept locked away for the public's safety. Monsters, mostly, and who wanted them on the street?

The committee running the investigation waffled about on the issue for a couple of weeks (because a surefire way to ensure you're never elected again is to appear soft on crime) but in the end they came up with a compromise. All of the SHIELD detainees would be given something approximating hearings. Because so many of the cases were bizarre and unorthodox, the hearings would bear little resemblance to normal legal proceedings, and would instead be aimed at determining what actions would best serve the public, the state, and the illegally detained, putting them last on the priority list, of course.

Going through all of the detainees took months. The hearings took place behind closed doors. Because they were taking up so many resources, the rest of the investigation ground to a halt in the meantime.

A few other changes did take place in the interim, though.

A number of programs were removed from SHIELD's jurisdiction, including The Avengers Initiative. It was placed under the Secretary of Defense, who immediately relegated all responsibilities to Captain Steve Rogers, whose character and judgment were above reproach.

Tony was maybe 85% joking when he asked why he hadn't been put in charge instead.

A couple of days after that, Natasha and Clint had showed up at the Tower. Between the two of them, they drank a whole bottle of vodka while explaining how they had been dismissed from their positions with SHIELD.

"Can't be an 'Avenger' _and _work for SHIELD," Natasha explained. "Not anymore. Had to pick one."

"At least they fired us," Clint added, downing another shot, "and didn't fire _at _us."

Tony thought it was a good point.

He renovated their rooms and had them move into the Tower full time.

For several months, they all worked on adapting to the new dynamic. Steve called most of the shots, they received very little oversight from the government, and things seemed to be looking up.

Except the investigation into SHIELD had also thrown light on everything associated with them, and that included the activities of the Avengers. Eventually some of _their _methods were called into question as well.

"What do you _mean _we can't kill anything?" Tony had asked, dumbfounded, when Steve had brought up the public's concerns at a meeting. "If something is trying to fucking kill me, I'm going to fucking kill it first, Rogers."

Thor had a similar opinion. "He is correct. Why should we endanger ourselves to protect those who would do us harm?"

Looking pained, Steve agreed. "I know, guys, it's stupid. But people are saying that we're too violent, that we need to be more careful...we're not vigilantes, we're a part of the government, technically, and..."

Clint apparently found that offensive. "Bullshit. Fuck that, that's fucking stupid."

Natasha nodded her agreement.

But Steve tried one more time. "Look. If it's aliens or robots or something, I don't think people are going to mind. But if it's another person...just, try to be less...lethal?"

Which was all well and good, except being less lethal meant that fights went on longer, which meant more property damage and more potential to get injured or killed.

Tony had been gifted with eight weeks to ruminate on that fact when he had to wait for his left radius and ulna to mend after a particularly nasty encounter with a douchebag who had decided to design and then test out some kind of EMP gun. Tony decided, after the cast came off, that he really wasn't a fan of the new policy. Not at all. But there was nothing to be done about it, not with the eyes of the public fixed so firmly on them.

That had been a couple of months ago.

Now, nine months after the invasion of the Svartálfar, Tony thought something might actually be going right. Because today was finally Bruce's hearing. And from what his legal team had indicated, Bruce had a decent chance of walking free.

Tony hadn't seen Bruce since the ill-fated rescue attempt nine months ago. He'd kept up with him, as best he could, by grilling the lawyers (Lucas Ryan and Kyle Samuels, both graduates of Ivy League law schools and both cocky sons of bitches) who were handling his case. Tony had been relieved to hear that the restraints had been done away with a few weeks into Bruce's incarceration, although the sedative had been tweaked to be administered first as an injection and later by some kind of specialized delivery system. It was continued at a dose that kept Bruce, in the words of SHIELD's scientists, 'placid yet functional.' For 'good behavior,' he had been given a few privileges, and so spent a lot of time reading, a fair amount of time watching television, and seemed, according to Ryan (who had been visiting him in preparation for the hearing), 'profoundly unhappy.'

Tony's response had been a tactful, "No shit, you _think_?"

But even though the lawyers had kept him in the loop, Tony still wasn't prepared when Bruce walked into the courtroom that morning. Because he looked like _shit_.

His hair had grown out some, although it had clearly been cut at some point, at least once. He had lost a significant amount of weight, leaving him almost emaciated in appearance, and his clothes hung off of him. His complexion was pale, completely lacking any hint of color. It was clear he hadn't even been near a window, let alone outside, in nine months.

More disturbing than his appearance, though, was his demeanor. As he entered the room, he looked at no one. Although Tony was seated in the front row, directly behind Bruce's lawyers, Bruce did not acknowledge him, opting instead to stare intently at the floor. His movements were slow and dragging. As he reached an uncertain hand up to brush his hair out of his face, his sleeve rode up, and Tony could see he was wearing some kind of device on his wrist. The skin around it looked raw and inflamed.

Bruce slid into the chair the lawyer pulled out for him and settled abruptly into absolute stillness.

Tony had to fight an intense urge to leap out of his chair and shake him, if only to disturb that awful resigned lifelessness. But he knew approaching the prisoner might make people nervous. More importantly...Tony didn't quite know what he would say.

All he could think of was, "I'm sorry." But that wasn't good enough. It was woefully inadequate and insufficient. It failed completely to express the gut-wrenching guilt that he felt, and so he was left with nothing.

While he was thinking about that, the judge came in. Everyone stood and sat again. Then the lawyers began to duke it out. Tony generally found lawyering boring as hell, and even though he knew how important this was, he still found he was having some pretty serious difficulty paying attention. Mostly because he couldn't stop staring at the thin, pale, figure in front of him.

Luckily, Lucas and Samuels had explained how this was going to go beforehand. SHIELD and the government were going to lay out everything they had against Bruce. They were probably going to use the testimony of General Ross. They were going to list every crime, every dollar of property damage, every person injured and every life taken by the Other Guy. Then they were going to go into the things that the Council had uncovered during their investigation nine months ago. They were going to do everything in their power to paint Bruce as a monster, and it was going to be invasive and brutal.

At the end of all that, Bruce's lawyers were going to make a case for his release, based on two things. First, that it was not actually Bruce who had done those things, and, in fact, that Bruce was as much a victim of the Other Guy as anyone else. To establish that, they were going to be just as, if not more, invasive and brutal as the government. Every single one of Bruce's 'issues' was going to be on display, from his suicide attempt, to the self-injury, to the paralyzing self-loathing.

Once they had shown that Bruce was really not to blame, they were going to show that he wasn't dangerous. This hinged on the fact that SHIELD had spent a great deal of effort expounding on the benefits of the medication they had developed. They insisted that it was completely safe and had been proven effective in keeping Bruce's dangerous alter ego at bay. As long as Bruce continued the medication regime that SHIELD had started him on, the lawyers were going to argue, keeping him in custody was unnecessary—and more importantly, it was a waste of taxpayer dollars.

Tony hadn't been okay with that. "Absolutely not. I want him off that shit."

But, the lawyers had assured him that this really was the best course of action. "Mr. Stark, we can fight that battle later. This is the fastest way to get him out of there. Just trust us."

Tony wasn't accustomed to trusting other people with really important shit. But he didn't have enough time to get a law degree (although he put it on his list of things to do), and he _had _hired these people, so with great reluctance he had decided to let them do their job and had acquiesced to the plan.

So now he watched. And waited. And listened. And wondered how the _fuck _this could possibly end in their favor.

At the end of what felt like an eternity and a half, the judge excused himself to consider what he'd heard.

He came back less than half an hour later, and Tony knew they were fucked.

"I have seen and heard a number of disturbing things over the last several months," the judge began. "This case is one of the worst."

Or, maybe they weren't.

He went on, "I find it hard to reconcile what I have heard with what I see in front of me. But I will take your word that this man is capable of what you say he is. At the same time, I do not believe that he is responsible for his actions while he is in that other form. His clear guilt and remorse attest to that. It seems that SHIELD took advantage of that guilt and remorse in an egregious way. Yet, their subsequent actions were aimed at our protection. But their methods were unethical, and their unauthorized medical experimentation on Dr. Banner was completely out of line. That said, it yielded results that have, as I understand, prevented his extremely dangerous alter ego from emerging for nine months." He paused, before adding, "This case is extremely complex, and there are many things that bear considering."

"With that in mind, I recommend the following: Dr. Banner will be released from SHIELD's custody immediately. As I believe his lawyers have sufficiently shown, his continued incarceration is not necessary, as long as he continues with the medication that SHIELD has developed. He will submit to monthly blood tests to ensure his compliance. In the event of an 'incident,' we can reconsider our course of action, but if this substance is as effective as testimony has led me to believe, I do not think it will be necessary. Dr. Banner, you are free to go. SHIELD will be in contact regarding your medical needs. Do you have a physician they can contact?"

Bruce did not answer.

"Dr. Banner?"

More silence.

Ryan stepped in. "He does, Your Honor."

The judge nodded. "Of course...Mr. Ryan. Mr. Samuels. Please leave the relevant information with the clerk." The judge pounded his gavel, and stood.

Slowly, the courtroom emptied. In just a minute, Tony, Bruce, and the two lawyers were alone. Ryan and Samuels walked over to where Tony was sitting, shell-shocked by the sudden end of the proceedings. Tony stood and shook their hands slowly.

"Wow, guys. I know I doubted you, but wow. I mean, okay, some of this is non-ideal, but shit, this went better than I thought it could have."

Samuels shrugged. "The government wants to get rid of as many of these cases as possible. They're too strange to deal with, and too expensive."

Ryan added, "All of these 'hearings' have been half-assed like this, but we didn't want to get your hopes up so we didn't mention it."

Samuels said, "SHIELD pretty much did all of the work for us, when they went on and on about how great that medication is. We figured that once the judge heard that, he'd have no qualms about releasing Banner as long as he stayed on the drugs."

"Is there anything we can do about that?" Tony asked, lowering his voice and looking at Bruce, who had not moved since he had sat down. "This is...bad."

"Like we said earlier, give it time. We'll try again in a few months, maybe a year. I know it sucks, but...you can't win them all, right?"

"Uh, sure. Sure. Yeah." It _did _suck, but it was still a major victory, and Tony would take it. "I have a doctor in mind to deal with this shit, who do I contact about it?"

Ryan waved him off. "We'll take care of it, just give us the number. Oh! Probably should have mentioned this earlier. That bracelet he's wearing is the delivery system; it's good for the next 36 hours. So, make sure you get us that number _soon_. It shouldn't be too hard to get everything set up. I think SHIELD will be glad to see him go. At least, they'll be glad to see us go." The grin on his face was more than a little feral.

Tony nodded. "Sure. Great. Okay. Can I really just...take him home?"

"You really can, yeah. Just make sure to get us that number, or else you might find a pretty significant police force at your door in a day. And you'll be on your own; we're going on vacation after this shit."

Tony nodded. "I will. Jesus. _Thank you_."

The lawyers gathered their belongings and slipped out the door, leaving Tony alone with Bruce.

And he had _no _idea what to do.

But he was impulsive, and so he decided to let that guide him, instead of thinking too hard about how to approach the situation. So Tony swallowed his reservations, and his awkwardness, and approached the table where Bruce had been sitting in listless torpor for the better part of four hours. He gently placed one hand on Bruce's shoulder, and was shocked to feel how thin and bony it was.

He made himself ignore it, though, and managed to choke out, "Hey. You ready to go?"

Bruce stood slowly, languidly. He shrugged Tony's hand off, but did not actually look at him, focusing once again on the floor instead. He spoke only one word. "Yes."

And even though his voice was completely flat, and his body language shrieked "defeat," and even though Tony knew that this was only one small step forward, and that the investigation wasn't anywhere close to over yet...he couldn't help but feel just a little bit hopeful.

* * *

I promise that, at some point, this is going to get less dark. Really. I've actually got a plan this time.

Updates might be sporadic on account of school.

Please review. If I have to choose between writing fan fiction or writing lab reports, reviews will help me make the right choice. The 'right' choice.


	2. Shattered

Warnings: language, generally unhappy themes.

My beta, irite, is pretty much the best. Seriously. This would not be happening without her.

I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

For almost a day and a half, Tony pretended that this 'situation' was okay.

He could maintain the farce no longer than that.

A few hours after they left court, he'd had his doctor contact his lawyers, and together they all set everything up with SHIELD. It had been almost too easy, really, and Tony wondered _why_.

He found out pretty quickly.

As it turned out, there was one condition to Bruce's release that Tony had not been aware of, and he considered firing and then eviscerating his lawyers when it came to light. A few brief moments of consideration, though, had him convinced that they had acted correctly and he decided that their internal organs could remain internal. For now.

"Next time, maybe mention it? You know, give me some fucking warning _before _the paperwork's in front of me?"

"Sorry, Mr. Stark," Ryan had said, not sounding especially sorry at all. "It came up right before the hearing, and I didn't want to give them time to change their minds. I figured it was what you'd want. It went a long way towards Dr. Banner's release."

He was right. And Tony knew it.

He would have liked the warning anyway.

But he nevertheless signed the document in front of him, which simultaneously made Bruce into something akin to his ward, and made Tony responsible for overseeing the care and management of Bruce's 'condition.'

That was something he had intended to do, anyway, so he'd been a little curious about the codification of it. Then he read the fine print, and found out that now, if Bruce's blood work came back testing negative for SHIELD's compound, Bruce would be back in their custody, and Tony would be in jail.

It was, Tony thought, a pretty diabolical move. SHIELD knew him pretty well, at least, they thought they did. And they thought he'd do just about anything to keep himself out of prison, including, apparently, throwing Bruce under the bus. Well, they were right about the first part. But the second part...fuck them. He was pretty goddamn selfish, but he wasn't a monster. If they thought the threat of imprisonment would be enough to stop him from trying to get Bruce off that shit, they were kidding themselves.

He was a fucking genius, and if they thought he couldn't find a way to work around this _and_ make them look stupid in the process...then they were _really _kidding themselves.

He just needed _time_. He needed to think, to plan, to design and build. And unfortunately, the only was he was going to get the time to do that was if he played along. It sucked, but it was only going to be for awhile, right?

So, for a day and a half, he tried to make the best of the situation. After all, he had Bruce back, and that was what was really important. Everything else would be okay.

A day and a half was more than long enough to convince him otherwise.

* * *

Bruce woke up lying in a sunbeam, and that was different.

He opened his eyes, then quickly shut them again against the bright light splashing across his bed.

_His _bed.

At one point, it had been all he had wanted. More than anything, he had wanted to wake up in his own bed, in his own room, with his own soothing navy blue sheets and vaguely nautical decor. Because that would mean that it was _over_, that he'd finally made it _home_.

Bruce was not sure at what point, exactly, the Tower had become "home." He did not know if he had felt so strongly about it before his detainment, or if his attachment had been a result of it. Either way, though, he had longed to return to the familiarity. He had missed this place terribly.

Now, though...it did not matter as much as he had thought it would. In fact, he found that he felt as indifferent towards his soothing navy blue sheets and nautical decor as he had felt towards the scratchy white sheets and empty white walls of his room at SHIELD. It was...almost disappointing, really. He had thought that being home would feel like...something. It didn't.

But then, very little felt like anything, anymore, and hadn't for months. Since that had been the goal (_whose goal, Banner?_), Bruce didn't really think it merited much concern.

He turned his head slowly, stretching his arm out to retrieve the blankets that had migrated during the night. As he did so, the device on his wrist flashed in the sunlight and the chafed skin underneath stretched unpleasantly.

Once, the sight of it had made him feel sick, but now he'd mostly forgotten about it.

Bruce hadn't thought that would have been possible. The first few weeks, wearing it had been agony. The thing was almost like a nicotine patch, at least in theory. Except unlike a nicotine patch, the device stored enough of SHIELD's magical medicine for 72 hours, and the constant skin-contact ensured that he did not go a single minute without the drug being delivered into his system. Also unlike a nicotine patch, the compound was extremely irritating to his skin. Bruce had been convinced, the first time he'd worn the thing, that it was actually eating away at his flesh, and he'd had the closest thing to a panic attack he could manage while under the influence. The doctor had tranquilized him, and when Bruce woken up (restrained to the bed _again_, great), the doctor had shown him the 1-inch by 1-inch square of skin over the veins in his wrist where the drug had been administered. It was faintly pink, and dry, but definitely not eaten away.

So, even though it _felt _like a third-degree burn, it wasn't harming him, not really. He'd let them put the bracelet back on with no objections.

Now, he'd gotten used to the pain, or maybe it had faded. Either way, it didn't bother him anymore.

So little did.

With a sigh, he sat up, immediately compensating for the wave of dizziness that accompanied this movement every morning. He remained in the same position for almost twenty minutes, going over the pros and cons of showering.

Decisions were so much _work_. He just didn't _care_ enough about anything to make a decision. Left to his own devices, he would lapse into stillness for _hours_. Bruce had figured it was a side-effect of the medication, but the doctors at SHIELD had not agreed. They had run blood tests for toxicity, had poked and prodded at him for weeks, but had finally come to the conclusion that the apathy was psychological. So they'd given him books, and television, and he'd done a fair amount of 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles. They'd told him what to do, and when, but none of it really mattered. He'd just jumped through their hoops so they'd go away, leave him to his protective cocoon of apathy.

Without that kind of intervention, Bruce wondered if he'd ever actually make it to the shower.

And, God, after showering came clothing, and there was a whole _closet _full of things to choose from. And then breakfast, with a whole _kitchen _full of food options.

Bruce considered just going back to sleep. It would be easier.

But Tony had bounded into his room, removing that as an option. "JARVIS said you were up..." he trailed off, seeing that Bruce had not made it all the way to 'up' yet, had, in fact, seemed to stall out at 'awake.'

If Bruce remembered correctly, it was usually customary to take turns in conversation. He needed to reply. "Yeah."

Tony gave him a really odd look, and Bruce wondered how he'd managed to screw up already.

After a brief (yet very awkward) pause, Tony said, "Here," and tossed a fresh cartridge for the device onto the bed next to Bruce. Bruce pretended not to notice how uncomfortable Tony was with his new responsibility, and Tony pretended not to notice the seemingly hopeless, resigned way that Bruce popped out the old cartridge and slipped the new one into its place. Neither was very successful.

That unpleasant task done, Tony asked, "You gonna shower?" Bruce momentarily looked so torn that Tony wondered if maybe there was something wrong with him. "Bruce? Are you okay?"

"...Yeah." And he stood slowly and moved towards the bathroom. He shut the door behind him softly.

Tony, with a shake of his head, headed back towards the kitchen. _What's _up _with him_?

Alone again, Bruce leaned against the door and sighed. Well, he'd made it this far. That was good. That was forward movement. If he could keep up this momentum, he might actually be able to get through the day.

Dressing after his shower was more work that Bruce would have liked. As it turned out, none of his old clothes fit, and so he'd had to dig around for awhile to find something that would, at least, stay on. He thought about maybe acquiring new clothes, but that seemed inconsequential in the face of his overwhelming desire to just stop thinking altogether, so he'd just shuffled out of his room towards the kitchen.

Yesterday, after they'd finished in court, Tony had brought Bruce back to the Tower, and the Avengers quarters had been mercifully empty. Bruce had slipped into his bedroom and gone to bed almost immediately, sleeping for over 14 hours. So he hadn't seen the others, yet, and they had not seen him.

It didn't occur to Tony that Bruce, having spent the last nine months in what amounted to solitary confinement, might be overwhelmed by crowds of people. It certainly never would have occurred to Tony that five people was a "crowd." So breakfast was its usual boisterous, overdone affair, with food and conversation flying everywhere.

Bruce, when he arrived, stopped dead in the doorway of the kitchen. _Okay. People. I remember people. What the _hell_ do I do with people? _He hadn't had a lot of opportunity for conversation in the last nine months, and all of it had been one-on-one. Now, he was struggling to recall social conventions and manners, but with the fog of apathy in his mind, it was all quickly relegated to the "too much work" pile. He let the concern go, and was relieved to be once again filled with the floating nothingness that had been his constant companion for the better part of a year.

To their credit, none of the Avengers immediately broke from their routine, although they did all cast curious glances at the physicist. The curiosity morphed into concern, though, the longer he stood frozen. Finally, after almost a minute, they all _did _settle into silence, and stared at him.

Finally, Thor broke the silence. "Dr. Banner! It is good to see that you have returned to us!"

Bruce took a hesitant step forward, entering the kitchen fully. "I'm uh," he cleared his throat and tried again, "Glad to see you guys, too."

It was the most words that Tony had heard him string together since they'd left the courtroom the previous afternoon. But he didn't sound particularly glad. He sounded empty, and just a little bewildered.

_Probably just overwhelmed. Or drugged. Or both. Probably both._

The other Avengers were still staring at Bruce, taking in his unhealthy appearance. Once, he might have been uncomfortable under that kind of scrutiny, but not anymore. He was too busy trying to figure out what he should do next to spare too much thought for anything else. He knew that just standing there wasn't the correct course of action, and so he took another step, hoping that it would resolve some of his questions.

But it just generated more. Steve got up from where he was sitting. "Here, Bruce, sit down. Do you want breakfast?"

Bruce considered that.

He thought about it for almost a minute, staring into space, looking both vaguely confused and vaguely troubled. Like he honestly could not make a simple decision.

Watching him, Tony first began to suspect the extent of the damage that SHIELD had caused.

* * *

The next clue that Tony got was much more overt. Fucking blatant, actually.

Everyone made it through the morning and afternoon. Things had gone better after breakfast, when the Avengers dispersed to their various tasks for the day.

Tony brought Bruce down to his lab, which had not changed at all in the nine months since he had last been there. Even the petri dishes containing his dead cell cultures were exactly where he had left them.

The familiar surroundings were not as comforting as Bruce had thought they would be.

Tony left him there, told him to feel free to wander around the Tower, reacquaint himself with everything. Then he'd gone up to his own lab to work on a few things and get through the day's news relating to the SHIELD investigation.

He returned to Bruce's lab a bit before 5:00, and found Bruce more-or-less in the same place he had left him eight hours ago.

"Uh, hey. Have you...moved?"

"Yeah."

"Did you get lunch?"

"No."

Well, that wasn't a surprise. "Do you want—Let's grab dinner." _I'm learning. Make it an order, not a question_.

They'd headed upstairs, and Tony had ordered Thai food. They'd just settled in to eat when Steve appeared in the doorway. "Suit up. We've got a job."

Tony set down his fork. "What kind of job?"

"One of the SHIELD hearings was, uh, compromised."

"And they called us. Fucking fabulous. What happened?" Tony wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but it looked like Bruce was actually actively _listening_, was actually interested enough in the conversation to put an effort into paying attention. That was new, so Tony divided his attention between Bruce and Steve, watching them both.

"The guy who was having his hearing today was apparently pretty angry about how things have been going in his life. He had some friends bust into the courtroom, guns, bombs, the whole nine yards. They're holding everyone hostage."

"Huh. Human, or not?"

"All human. Sorry, Tony."

"What?" Bruce interjected, sounding more grounded than he had all day.

Ah, so Bruce _had _been engaged. "New orders from the higher-ups," Tony informed him. "We're not supposed to kill people unless we have to. Since we're government agents and shit. Or something. This whole SHIELD thing had people really paranoid about the government."

"Isn't that...?"

"Really stupid and dangerous? Yeah. I broke my fucking arm in three places trying to take this one asshole down without killing him." Tony stood and turned to face Steve fully, and so missed the horrified look that had slowly crossed Bruce's face. "Did you get Romanoff and Barton? I think they're sparring. 'Sparring.'"

Steve rolled his eyes at the obvious innuendo. "Yeah, Nat's getting the car. Thor and Clint are downstairs. We're just waiting on you."

Tony looked mournfully at his dinner, then shot a quick glance at Bruce. Truth be told, he did not want to leave the physicist alone, not given his recent behavior. But he didn't have a choice. Bruce hadn't been barred from the team, not exactly, but 'hulking out' was not an option, per the court agreement. And Bruce didn't belong near _any _kind of danger in the state he was currently in, anyway. It was entirely probable that Bruce wouldn't want to go—Tony knew Bruce had been iffy about being on the team before. He probably hadn't warmed to the idea in 9 months of detainment. Asking him to make a decision about it right now was more of a time commitment that Tony could make.

Bruce would have to stay here. "Any idea how long this will take?" The words were barely out of his mouth when he noticed that Bruce had lost what little color he had, and had, in the last moment, begun to look rather unwell. Nervous, maybe, or something else. _What the hell_?

Steve started to roll his eyes again, but then noticed the careful way Tony was considering Bruce, who had begun to look...agitated. Understanding the billionaire's concern, Steve replied, "Unless something goes really wrong, it should be pretty fast. But we really have to go. _Now_. The police chief said that someone's already been killed in the standoff; I think it was one of the clerks."

Unexpectedly, Bruce spoke up. "Go. I'll be fine."

Tony didn't think that was particularly reassuring. There was clearly something going on, something about Bruce had changed in the last few minutes. Had changed for the worse. But Tony had to go—when the world (or the courthouse, as it might be) needed saving, it waited for no one. If blank reassurances were all Bruce could offer him, he'd have to take it and hope for the best. "Fine. We'll be back soon." He managed to refrain from adding something insulting, like "be careful," or "stay safe." Fuck, _he _was the one heading to a hostage situation.

What harm could possibly befall Bruce here?

* * *

His apathy had been a protective cocoon.

Like a cocoon, though, it was, ultimately, fragile.

Nothing in his time with SHIELD had broken it, though. Once he had constructed the walls, they couldn't touch him, but that was because they didn't bother trying. He was where they wanted him, placid and controlled, so what did they care, really, about the exact mechanism behind it?

Sure, they'd been a little put off by the apathy, but they hadn't poked at it too hard. And after nine months, they had assumed it was more-or-less permanent, a new facet of his personality, and Bruce imagined that they probably patted themselves on the back for taming the beast so thoroughly.

Bruce had assumed it was permanent, too, and had grown comfortable with never having to feel anything. So when he found himself suddenly without his apathy safety blanket, he felt stripped naked, raw, exposed.

Before, he couldn't care. Could _not_. Sending the rescue party away nine months ago had nearly broken him, so he had shut down as hard and fast as he could, to salvage whatever feelings of attachment, warmth, or friendship that were left. And for the months that followed he hadn't wanted to let anything come in, because he could feel that his control over his walls was so tenuous, so fleeting, that the smallest breeze would have sent him reeling, left him vulnerable to a final shattering from which he did not think he could recover.

The drug, as perverse as it was, had helped shore up the walls, had taken enough of the edge off of the screaming psychic agony that he had been able to shut down, and to stay that way. The dose had been so high at first that It made him completely numb, physically and mentally. By the time it was lowered, he had distanced himself from his pain, from everything. He had been alone, had grown accustomed to being detached.

He wasn't alone now, though. As disconnected as he might have been feeling, he was not alone. And now, _something _had come in, had ripped his cocoon apart, had knocked his walls to pieces.

It was simple. Bruce knew all about cause and effect. He was a scientist (had been, once, anyway...he felt more like _nothing _now) and cause and effect was the basis of all science. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. He knew that, understood it, embraced it as one of the laws that brought order to the universe.

If he had been in a better place, if he had possessed a healthier mindset, his train of thought might have arrived at the correct depot. But Bruce's issues were deep rooted and widespread, touching every corner of his psyche and turning it against him. So instead, his train of thought went completely off the rails.

Clearly, this was _his _fault.

Tony's quest for _his_ freedom led to the hearings. Like the hearing that had just gone awry, leaving at least one innocent bystander dead. And Tony had already come to harm, would have to face increased danger _forever _because of the new rules that had been put into place because of him.

The guilt, small at first, unlocked the gates behind which he had locked all of his feelings from before his detainment. And it grew into something massive, crushing.

Bruce watched as Tony got up to leave, as he followed Steve out of the kitchen. Now, he was alone.

And...not panicking. He couldn't. Physically _could not panic_. But the feeling of the thoughts racing through his head without the corresponding physiological response was...disconcerting.

Distressing.

He tried deep breaths, but they didn't help. How could they? He wasn't worked up, not like that. His feelings were locked inside a shell that was physically incapable of responding to them. His breathing was fine.

Mind racing nearly out of control, now (_What the hell _is _this_?), his thoughts landed on another coping mechanism.

_Bad idea, Banner_.

That was true. It was a bad idea. It was dangerous. He would endanger people by being 'unhinged.' He wasn't unhinged. And he wasn't going to be any more dangerous than he already was.

No, he wouldn't do _that _again.

But there _was _one more option.

Bruce stood, legs of his chair screeching across the kitchen floor. He made his way back to his room, listening to the litany of charges that his subconscious had been waiting nine months to lay upon him. It was a vicious diatribe, almost like a punishment for daring to block this shit out for so long.

Well, he'd block it out again. He couldn't listen to this. It was too fucking dangerous because he was getting angry. Or panicked. Or something. It was definitely_ something_, and it had to stop.

He _wasn't _going to break. Not now. Not after everything. He would hold it together. He could make it stop.

The cartridge he'd pulled from the device on his wrist that morning was still sitting on his bed. If he remembered, it still had 12 hours worth of medication left in it. He picked it up and felt along the edges for a seam. He found it and tried to pry it open. Failing at that, he slammed it against the nightstand. It popped open. _Gotta love that government craftsmanship_.

Bruce had never seen the inside of these before, but he was a genius (even if he _was _currently falling apart), and figuring out the mechanics wasn't so hard. Inside, he found three tiny vials, two of which were empty, and one that was half-empty. He pried the half-empty vial out, and worked off the covering.

Given how irritating the compound was to skin, he wasn't interested in finding out how it felt on mucus membranes, so he didn't swallow it. He just poured it on the skin of his other wrist.

It hadn't occurred to him, in his rush, that the bracelet he wore contained a pretty sophisticated mechanism to ensure that only a safe dose was being transferred to his body at any time.

The dose he had just administered to himself was _not _safe.

He had a moment of clarity in which he marveled at his own idiocy about a half-second before he hit the floor.

* * *

Taking care of the hostage situation had been, as Steve predicted, pretty quick. Between the five of them, they had the problem cleared up in just over half an hour. Steve had, for once, agreed to postpone the debrief, so they headed back to the Tower as soon as they could break away from the media.

When they got into the elevator, JARVIS immediately spoke up. "Mr. Stark, it seems prudent to inform you that Dr. Banner is currently unconscious on the floor of his bedroom."

Tony had not been expecting that. "_What_?"

"Dr. Banner is currently unconscious on the floor of his bedroom."

Hearing it a second time somehow didn't help with processing. "What the—why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

"I tried, sir, you had muted all non-Iron Man related messages."

Oh, that was right. He vaguely remembered that there _had _been an alert flashing in his peripheral vision.

Tony pressed the button for the Avengers' floor more vigorously.

Steve, who had gone rather pale, said, "Tony. That's not going to get us there any faster."

"The fuck it's not!"

Thor placed a hand on the billionaire's shoulder. "Your JARVIS has said he is unconscious, Stark, not dead. It will be all right."

Tony couldn't deal with platitudes on top of the careening sense of 'what-the-fuck-is-going-on" that had overtaken him. "He was supposed to be _fine_, guys, what the _fuck _is going on?"

None of them had an answer for him. When the elevator doors opened, they moved as one towards Bruce's room.

He was lying face-down on the floor. Clint kneeled down and rolled him over, pressing his fingers to Bruce's throat. "Pulse is there. Weak. And _slow_."

Tony looked around the room. He saw the broken pieces of plastic, the empty vials, and it took him a couple of seconds to put it together. But he did.

And he felt sick.

While the others argued about calling for an ambulance, Tony sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at the still figure on the floor with a growing feeling of dismay and ineffectuality.

Because he might have gotten Bruce back, but SHIELD had returned him broken. More than he had been before. And Tony knew he was really good at fixing things, but even he had no idea what to do with the shattered pieces that SHIELD had thrown into his lap.

* * *

And so ends chapter two. You probably don't believe me, but this _is_ someday going to become less dark.

This chapter wins the award for "thing that depressed me the most to write." So, please review and let me know what _you_ thought.


	3. Run Away

Warnings: language, general unhappiness and angst.

Many thanks to my beta, irite, for helping me clear up some lingering plot issues...

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

In the end, the team decided against the ambulance—how could they possibly explain this situation to the paramedics? More pressingly, how could they keep this from the government? Tony knew that they were monitoring the Tower, were keeping track of everyone coming and going. An ambulance would draw their attention, and that would just lead to Bruce being declared 'unstable,' and he'd end up right back where he'd started.

And, well, fuck that.

So they took turns sitting by Bruce's bed through the night, making sure that he kept breathing, that his heart kept beating, and relying entirely too much (in Tony's opinion) on the assertion that Bruce had once made that he could not be killed.

Tony's shift started at 3:00 AM. The room was silent, except for Bruce's slow, quiet breathing, and the calm allowed Tony to focus. Which was good; he needed to consider a few things.

First, he needed to figure out exactly how bad this whole thing really was. It had just become apparent that he was laughably, woefully unprepared for this situation. Tony would never have considered himself an optimist, but even his particular brand of realistic pessimism hadn't been dark enough to account for how this was going down. He had thought it would be bad, that it would be hard, that Bruce's readjustment to life on the outside was going to be arduous and perhaps even miserably lengthy. He had felt prepared for that.

But not for this. Whatever _this _was.

And that was the second thing that he had to consider—What the fuck had just happened? Tony didn't _think _that Bruce had been trying to kill himself, because Bruce believed that he couldn't be killed. So why would he try to end his life? Of course, it was possible that Bruce's capacity for that kind of logical thinking had been destroyed by his time with SHIELD. They'd certainly destroyed other things. Maybe after everything that had happened to him, Bruce had just completely lost it, had decided it was time to shove off the mortal coil, disregarding any and all obstacles to that goal.

Tony didn't think that was true, though. Although, what it really came down to was that Tony didn't _want_ to think that it had been a suicide attempt, and until Bruce regained consciousness, that was all he had to go on. So if it hadn't been _that_, then what the hell had happened? Tony didn't know.

The third thing that he had to think about was, "What now?" And that was the one that Tony was struggling with the most. Because it required action, and if he took action, then he could fuck something up. Fucking up was something that he could _not _do.

In fact, he was so stricken with the horrible possibility of doing something wrong that it was tempting to do _nothing_, to wash his hands of this whole affair. He was in so far over his head that he was drowning. Tony had been prepared to rescue Bruce. He had made that decision, had acted upon it, had accepted the consequences. But he hadn't been prepared to _keep _rescuing Bruce, though, and he hadn't even imagined that he'd have to save the physicist from himself.

But now Tony knew that was something he was going to have to do. Because, somehow, he'd ended up taking responsibility for another person. Legally, yes, but it was also something he _wanted_ to do. That kind of commitment was unprecedented, and it was frightening and _huge_, but he was determined not to buckle under it. What had happened to Bruce wasn't fair, and it wasn't right, and it _could not _go unaddressed. _Someone _needed to advocate for him, to hold him up while he learned how to stand on his own again.

If he even could.

But Tony _hoped_ it could be done, and thought that they might just be the right group of people to try it. _Really...who better to do this than me? Than the others? We're fucking superheroes_.

It was as simple as that. Tony made the decision, that moment, to get over his doubt, his guilt, his lingering worries. Doing nothing was not an option. Tony Stark did _not _do 'nothing.'

Tony would not leave Bruce in his quagmire of misery. It was time to pull him out. Whether Bruce was ready for it or not.

Tony just had to figure out _how._

* * *

Just before dawn, Bruce cracked his eyes open. A wave of dizziness rushed over him, and he clenched his eyes shut again, waiting patiently for the world to stop spinning, tilting, reeling. When his equilibrium had been restored, he opened his eyes again, and slowly managed to maneuver so that he was sitting upright.

In the dim light cast by the lamp next to the bed, he could see Tony lounging in the corner, sprawled in the single chair in the room. Hearing Bruce's movement, Tony peered over the top of the tablet he'd been working on.

"Morning. Idiot."

Tony's tone was more resigned than angry, though, and the incongruity between his words and the way that he said them was more than Bruce could process in his half-drugged, half-asleep state.

"...What?" His throat felt dry and raw, and the word lacked all substance, was more of a ragged breath than a legitimate attempt at communication.

"Good morning. You're an idiot."

Strangely, that did not clarify anything. "...I don't understand—" Mumbled, barely comprehensible, but Tony got the gist and interrupted him.

"You know what _I _don't understand?"

The lingering stupor of sleep was clearing away, but Bruce still felt sluggish and stupid. Despite that, he managed to answer with more coherence, "No?"

"What the _fuck _did you do last night?"

Bruce tried to remember, but he drew a complete blank. That was concerning, and it seemed like something he should share. "I don't know, Tony, what—"

"And don't you dare say you don't know."

Bruce wondered why Tony kept interrupting him. It was annoying. At least, it should have been. Being interrupted that many times in a row _should _have been annoying. It actually wasn't, though.

Through the thick fog lying across his mind, Bruce could not figure out why that was.

Tony looked at him expectantly. Slowly, with a concerted, deliberate effort, Bruce began to connect the pieces.

This fog in his mind was familiar, and that was bad. Now that he was thinking about it, this was how he had felt when SHIELD had still been adjusting the dose on the meds. In the beginning, when the dose had been way too high, he had felt this same blank numbness. Like he was floating, maybe, or like having a physical form had ceased to matter.

_So...I've been drugged_. _Again_.

Okay. That was clear. Obvious, now. But by whom?

Tony's words replayed in his mind. _What the fuck did _**you** _do last night_?

And _then _it clicked, and he remembered. "Oh."

Tony had waited with remarkable patience while Bruce tried to jump start his memory. But his patience had apparently run out. "Oh. Oh? That's all you have? What the _hell_, Banner?"

Bruce was kind of wondering the same thing. He was remembering his panic-not-panic, how his sympathetic nervous system had betrayed him, had lapsed into complete ineffectuality. He remembered feeling like he was losing control, that he was slipping, that he needed to make it stop before someone got hurt. He remembered deciding that the best way to do that was...

To drug himself. Nearly into oblivion, apparently, if Tony's concern was anything to go by.

Tony was talking again, had been for the last several seconds. Bruce tuned back into the billionaire's diatribe. "...I thought you knew how concentrated that shit was, but apparently not, or were you trying to kill yourself? I honestly don't know what the fuck else you could have been trying to do, but I'm _trying _to give you the benefit of the doubt, but that's really, really hard when you take enough of a sedative to put a fucking elephant into a coma!"

Bruce was momentarily distracted by the mental image of a comatose elephant. Refocusing, he decided to address what he perceived to be the most important part of Tony's speech. "I know how concentrated it is—"

"—Fucking great, Banner, that's just what I wanted to hear!"

_Someone needs to tell him it's rude to interrupt. _"—I just, um, forgot?" Bruce finished lamely.

"You forgot?"

Bruce found suddenly that he was feeling quite loquacious. "Well, yeah. I wasn't thinking very clearly."

With that as an introduction, he launched into a thorough and lengthy explanation of how the events of the previous night had gone down.

The look that Tony was giving him said to Bruce that Tony did not believe he was thinking very clearly _now_. And, well, that was true—he was pretty much stoned, hence the way he had just started blathering. But it wasn't so bad. And he was definitely thinking better than he had been the previous night. His thoughts were calm (_completely absent_), and he was actually feeling pretty _great_. None of those pesky feelings bothering him now, so he was safe, and so _Tony_ was safe, and _everyone _was safe, so wasn't that good?

He tried to express all of this to Tony, but the billionaire went from looking mildly disbelieving to completely dismayed to downright sickened, and Bruce trailed off somewhere in the middle of elaborating on how he was a dangerous monster who kept putting his friends at risk for stupid, selfish reasons, and how he _thought _he felt guilty about it, but he couldn't risk getting emotionally involved in his own life to tell for sure.

"...What's wrong?" he asked, instead of finishing his attempt to give voice to the insistent truth yearning to be released from his mouth.

Tony swallowed once, then twice. "Are you listening to yourself?"

Honestly? "Not really."

"You just said about fifteen things that make no goddamn sense."

Bruce might have gotten offended, if he could have actually remembered what he'd been saying. He couldn't, though, so he just shrugged instead.

Tony shook his head. "Okay. Point taken. We're not doing this right now. Go back to sleep, we'll try this again later."

Bruce wasn't sure if he wanted to try again later, wasn't sure that this conversation was something he could face if he wasn't drugged nearly to the point of stupefaction. But he _was _amenable to more sleep. Too tired to protest the second part of Tony's plan, Bruce embraced the first part with vigor and flopped back down onto his soothing navy blue sheets, rolling onto his side.

Tony went back to his tablet. A few seconds passed before he said, "Bruce?"

"What?"

Several more seconds passed, and Bruce had nearly dropped off into sleep before Tony asked, "It's just...I need to know. For sure. _Were _you trying to kill yourself?"

Bruce sounded bemused when he answered, "...No. I can't. I thought I told you that?"

"Yeah. You did. Okay. Okay, good."

The relief in his voice was almost tangible, but Bruce was too out of it to pay that much mind.

Tony lapsed into silence, and Bruce was asleep within minutes.

* * *

Bruce slept until almost noon, and in that time Tony managed to get a lot figured out.

First, he'd had JARVIS summon the others to the kitchen. The fact that it was 5:30 AM was largely irrelevant to him, but when Clint stalked into the room wearing nothing but Avengers themed pajama bottoms and looking nearly homicidal, Tony put a pot of coffee on.

He was getting so good at having roommates.

Steve and Thor came in next, and Natasha was last. She looked at Clint's attire and snorted, "Really, Barton? Couldn't even find a shirt?"

She, of course, was completely put together.

Tony waited for them to get their coffee, and even managed to dig up half a dozen stale donuts. He was commending himself on his newfound hosting abilities when Steve asked, "What's wrong?"

Tony looked up from the donut he was examining for mold. "What do you mean, 'what's wrong?' Nothing's wrong."

"...Oh. I just assumed...you're acting so weird, is all, and you're not with Bruce..."

Tony ignored the implication that his attempts at being a good host were "weird," and instead replied, "Bruce woke up."

That got their attention.

"And?" Natasha asked.

Tony shrugged. "He was kind of, uh...high. He said some stuff..." Everyone looked at him, waiting. But Tony didn't know if he should relay exactly what Bruce had rambled, didn't know if it would be useful. _But then, _Tony thought_, it'll probably be better if they know what we're dealing with._

So he laid it out. "It was pretty confusing. He blames himself for...just about everything. Um, he thinks he's a monster, and he's selfish. And he's worried that if he actually has an emotion or something he's going to fall apart. Like he hasn't already. He's afraid he's going to hurt someone. That was the gist of it. Oh, but he _did _say he wasn't trying to kill himself. So, there's that, right?"

There were several beats of silence before Clint said, "I guess? That's not much of a consolation."

"How can he even _think _that kind of stuff?" Steve asked, incredulous.

Thor agreed. "It does not seem...logical."

Tony thought that was an awfully mild way to put it—Tony had been leaning towards 'completely fucking crazy.' He shrugged again. "Bruce isn't...right. And that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

They all waited, and Tony wished suddenly that he had put a little more preparation into his 'Bruce is crazy and we need to help him' speech. Because now he wasn't quite sure how to begin. And he wasn't even sure how effective they could be, didn't know what they should do, what they _could _do.

That seemed like a good place to start. Honesty never hurt. "I have no idea what we should do about this. But we have to do _something_."

Tony was pleased to see that everyone looked as helpless as he felt, even if that meant that they were all probably feeling as useless as he was, as well.

"Like what?" Natasha asked, after a moment. "We're not psychiatrists, and I don't know if one of those would even be helpful."

It was harsh, but Tony had to concede the point. "That's true. I think you're right—I don't think Bruce needs a shrink, or meds, or anything like that. That seems like the _worst _possible way to handle this, after...everything. No, I was thinking..." he trailed off as a plan finally began to coalesce in his mind. _About time that genius-level intellect kicked in, Jesus Christ._

After a pause, he spoke again. "Okay, I lied, I wasn't thinking _anything _before, but I am now. And I'm thinking that the first thing we need to do is get him off that SHIELD shit."

"I thought you said he had to stay on it?" Steve pointed out.

"Yeah, or he could end up back with SHIELD and I could end up in jail. And, uh, fuck no. So clearly we need to figure out a way to trick SHIELD. I don't suppose either of you" he gestured at Clint and Natasha, "Know anything about how they do their drug testing?"

Clint shook his head. "Not really our thing. But...Wouldn't Bruce know that sort of shit? He's done some work with them."

It was a good point. "I'll ask him about when he's not high. But I think I'm getting an idea. Okay. The other thing I think we need to do is keep an eye on him, stick close. He can't be alone. He might not be trying to kill himself, but he's not thinking logically, and he's not exactly a stranger to self-destructive behavior."

The others nodded—as uncomfortable as it was, that was pretty obvious at this point.

Tony had one last point to make. "There's one more thing. And this is probably going to be the hard part. Bruce is delusional," he stated flatly, not liking the taste of the word, but unwilling to hide from the truth. "He has some pretty strongly fixed ideas about who he is and what he needs, and they are _wrong_. We need to knock those ideas down, and we have to be consistent about it. From what I've seen, it's going to be long, and hard, and I don't even know if it _can _be done. But we're going to try." He glared around the room. "This isn't your regular superhero shit. If any of you aren't prepared to see this through to the end, whatever. But get the fuck out. 'Cause I'm doing this."

His declaration was met with silence. Then Clint raised an eyebrow. "Don't be an ass. I think we're all pretty damn committed here."

"I am not quite sure what needs to be done, Stark, but rest assured that I will do anything in my power to aid Dr. Banner," Thor added, looking offended at Tony's lack of conviction in them.

Steve nodded. "Have a little faith, Tony, we're not going to bail out here. This is important to _all _of us, you know."

Tony was a little surprised by their vehemence, although he thought maybe he shouldn't have been. They'd stuck by him so far, had stuck by _Bruce _so far. Still, it was a relief to see that they were all on the same page, united and ready to act.

"...Okay. Great. Good to know." He clapped his hands together and stood. "So. I need to do some stuff in the lab. Someone should go sit with Bruce. And the rest of you—"

"Are going the fuck to bed," Clint declared, before standing. "I'm all for the team meetings and shit but can we do them over lunch?" He stuffed a donut in his mouth and headed back towards his room.

Natasha stood as well, grabbing her coffee and a questionable donut. "I'm already up. I'll watch Bruce." She turned towards the physicist's room.

Thor and Steve looked at each other and shrugged. They rose and made their way back to their own rooms.

Tony grabbed the last of the stale donuts and his huge cup of coffee. He didn't know how any of them could sleep right now, but whatever. He, at least, had work to do.

As a man who had once synthesized a new element, Tony didn't think that his current project would be all that difficult. But organic chemistry had never been his thing, and it actually ended up confounding him. In that his project took him more than the two hours he'd thought it would.

In fact, in the end, it took almost two weeks. But he made a pretty decent start on it before noon.

He started by kicking a group of chemists in R&D out of one of their labs and sending them downstairs to bother the biologists. His personal lab, more geared towards mechanical and electrical engineering, didn't have all the equipment for what he needed to do. The chemists had seemed pretty miffed, but when your eccentric-billionaire boss strides into your lab and sends everyone to work on an 'interdisciplinary project' for the rest of the week, you don't argue.

Then Tony had headed back upstairs. He'd grabbed one of the cartridges for Bruce's device and pried it open, taking the three little vials out. He brought them back downstairs and ran samples of the drug through the IR and GC-MS. He needed to get a picture of how this shit looked on paper.

Next, he pored through his files from when he'd hacked SHIELD and pulled up all of the information that he had on their special compound. Within a few moments, he had a rough set of instructions on how to make it, as well as detailed information about its structure and composition. He checked the lab inventory and placed an order for a few odds and ends with a nearby chemical supply company, using one of the head scientist's accounts.

He got an irritated phone call from Pepper around 9:00 that he seriously considered ignoring. Talking to her was just a little...awkward. Their relationship had ended on somewhat less than amicable terms six months ago when Tony had really begun digging his heels in against SHIELD. Tony conceded that the relationship had failed because of him; he hadn't been giving Pepper half the attention she deserved, and he knew it. It didn't change the fact that he couldn't manage a relationship on top of all the other shit.

So they had called it quits, and she stayed on to run the company, because no matter how much Tony had hurt her, she couldn't deny the importance of what he was doing. Freed from that duty, Tony had been able to dedicate all his time and effort to his battle against SHIELD and his other Avengers duties.

For that, he was grateful, and that overrode the awkwardness, so on the 20th ring, he _did _answer the phone. He patiently listened to her lecture on the misappropriation of company resources until just after 9:30.

The next two and a half hours were spent waiting for his delivery and reviewing the 'basics' of complex organic synthesis.

Steve popped into his lab at 12:15, shortly after Tony had forged one of his chemists' signatures on the delivery form for his supplies. The supersoldier peered into one of the boxes before deciding he _didn't _really want to know what Tony was up to, and said, "Bruce is up."

Well, that was convenient. "Good. I need to talk to him." Tony stood and stretched, and followed Steve back towards the elevator.

When Tony got to Bruce's room, his bed was empty, but Tony could hear the shower running in the bathroom. So he settled back into the uncomfortable chair in the corner to wait.

* * *

Bruce considered staying in the shower for the rest of his life. It seemed like a pretty good idea. It was warm, and quiet, and he didn't have to deal with...anything.

His earlier conversation with Tony had taken on a hazy, dreamlike quality and he could not tell if what he remembered had actually happened, or if he was even remembering everything that _had_.

The gaps in his memory were, frankly, inconvenient. And embarrassing.

Also rather embarrassing was the small fact that he'd freaked out and sedated himself. As effective as it had been (unconsciousness had been preferable to what could have happened without intervention, because _You're a menace, Banner, you know that_), even Bruce could see how his actions could be misinterpreted as having a more...fatal intent. Which, clearly, Tony had done. Bruce smirked to himself. He'd be lying if he said that the thought hadn't crossed his mind once or twice in the last nine months, but he knew it would be futile to try—futile, and far, far too dangerous.

He couldn't bear the thought of hurting another person while trying to end himself.

So _Bruce_ knew that it was not an option, but apparently _Tony_ didn't, and that had made him worry. And Bruce wasn't quite sure what to do with the billionaire's (and, for that matter, the whole team's) concern, had been struggling with that even _before_ his detainment. It just seemed so counterintuitive; _why _did they care at all, when _clearly _they shouldn't?

He didn't get it. And trying to work that out, trying to deal with it, was overwhelming, and that was bad. Because he needed to stay even-keeled, he needed his apathy, and dwelling on anything for too long was a sure-fire path to disaster.

But then, Bruce was beginning to feel that just living here was going to be a sure-fire path to disaster. Being around the people he cared about, constantly putting them in the path of his monster, constantly letting them _care _about him when they should be running and screaming in the opposite direction...it was bound to go badly.

Could only end one way, really.

A hard, cold female voice echoed in his mind, repeating the truths that he had drawn into his core: _You are dangerous, Dr. Banner._

_Attacked without provocation_.

_T__heir inj__uries may yet prove fatal_.

His stomach rolled. And then, Bruce knew what he had to do. There was only one safe option.

He shut the water off abruptly and stepped out of the shower. He dried off and dressed as quickly as he could manage, trying to ignore his burgeoning headache and the nausea creeping through his midsection.

God, but it made it hard to concentrate.

Still, Bruce would not be stopped. He threw open the bathroom door and strode to his closet, focused only on his goal, pulled out a duffel bag and hastily filled it with some of his ill-fitting clothing. He turned back into his bathroom and tossed in a few toiletries. He turned again and headed towards the door, thinking vague thoughts of Mexico or Brazil or Chile. Anywhere but _here_.

Bruce's hand was on the doorknob when Tony, who had been watching Bruce's frenetic packing from his corner, shocked into silence, finally spoke up.

"Are you _going_ somewhere?"

* * *

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers and followers and favoriters.

Reviews are my raison d'être.

Yes, I just wanted to say "raison d'être."


	4. Judgment

Warnings: language, general unhappiness. I think you know the drill by now.

Eternal gratitude to my beta, irite, whose massive amount of feedback on this chapter improved it by at least 104%.

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

Bruce had just touched the doorknob when he realized he wasn't alone.

"Are you _going _somewhere?" Tony asked from the corner.

Bruce froze. Slowly, and with his shoulders slumping, he removed his hand from the doorknob. In silence, he stood facing the door, willing himself to turn around and deal with this new obstacle. He didn't want to make the simple 180-degree rotation, because that would mean answering the questions he knew would follow.

The seconds ticked by, and the silence grew into something almost overpowering.

An age passed before Bruce, with a sigh, stepped back from the door and turned to face Tony. The billionaire looked livid, and that was too much to deal with. Bruce closed his eyes and leaned back against the door, rubbing small circles on his forehead in an attempt to soothe the throbbing pain in his frontal lobe.

_Can't even do this _one thing_ right, can you?_

Before he could become too involved in the mental abuse he was ready to heap upon himself, Tony spoke again, his tone hard and angry. "I don't fucking get it, you were _fine _earlier and now you're what, packing your bags for Bruce Banner's Central American Dream Getaway? What the hell?"

There was so much that Tony didn't understand if he felt the need to ask that question, so much that Bruce had to explain to him. But where to start? "I can't stay here."

Well, that was as good a place as any.

Tony rolled his eyes and huffed, "Bullshit you can't. You haven't even fucking tried."

Bruce felt the stirring of something like annoyance rising in his chest. He clenched his jaw, forcing the ghost of emotion back into its grave. This could _not_ keep happening. But being here, being around all these people, made it so _hard _to keep it all under control. It was really only a matter of time until something snapped, and then what?

He shook his head, making a small sound of negation. That wasn't going to happen. He could hold it together. He had to. At least until he could get out of here.

"Are you okay?"

Bruce's eyes snapped open and he focused on Tony. Slowly, with careful enunciation, he said again, "I can't stay here."

"You know, I'm having the weirdest feeling of déjà vu. Are you?"

"Tony, I can't—"

"Jesus, _yes_, I heard you. I heard you earlier, too. We had a _great _conversation this morning; do you remember any of that?"

To be honest, that memory was mostly faded into something gauzy and surreal, but he _did_ remember at least one part clearly. "Yeah. You wanted to know if I was trying to kill myself. I _wasn't_."

Tony nodded. "But you don't remember the _fascinating _discourse you gave on your nature, your fears, your place in the world? Because it was enlightening. Gave me some real insight into the post-SHIELD Bruce Banner."

_Oh, good God, I went philosophical_.

And he'd told Tony...what, exactly? Bruce shook his head slowly. "Uh, no. No, I don't remember that."

"Hmm. I should have taken notes. Let me see what I can remember." Tony furrowed his brow in exaggerated concentration. "Oh yeah. You believe that you're a 'monster,' which I find hard to believe because right now, you've got your shirt on backwards and your pants are two sizes too big, and that's not terribly monster-y, I gotta say. Not scary at _all_. What else...for some reason, you seem to believe that if you feel any emotion at all, you're going to Hulk out and tear us all to pieces, and that's just fucking wrong because it takes some pretty serious anger or _something_ to get the Other Guy to make an appearance. _And_ you've got better control over him than you think. Oh! I almost forgot my favorite part. Where you said you are 'putting us all at risk by being here,' but you can't help it because you 'are unbelievably selfish' since you 'really hated it at SHIELD' and 'wanted to come home.' I mean, wow. One, that's not selfish, that's _normal_. Two, like you had any choice in coming here. Give me some fucking credit, will you? If anyone's putting everyone at risk, it's me since I'm the one who brought you here, so can I at least take ownership of the damn risk? Not that there _is_ a risk. But can't you just _trust _me?"

Bruce cocked his head slightly to one side, waiting for his brain to decode Tony's ranting. When he'd finished, his burgeoning feeling of mortification had grown. Because apparently, he had told Tony _everything_.

And yet, knowing all of that, knowing the _truth_, Tony was still sitting in that god-awful chair, peering up at Bruce like he _wasn't _putting himself in immense danger just by being there, and...what had Tony just said?

_He doesn't think you're a monster. That's what he said. He said he thinks you're safe. And he wants you to trust him_.

Well, that was ludicrous. _No one_ could control this, and actually _expecting _another person to try was practically criminal. Bruce looked up and met the billionaire's gaze. "I'm sorry, Tony, but... I can't trust you—"

"You can't trust yourself."

"...What?"

Tony stood and began to pace. "Look. This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I don't know what the fuck they did to you at SHIELD. But right now, you're drugged, you're delusional, you're...depressed. So, you can't trust yourself. You can't trust your mind. Because everything it's telling you is a lie."

Ridiculous. "I'm not depressed. Or delusional, Tony, just because you don't like the truth doesn't mean it's not _true—_"

Exasperated, Tony cut in, "Okay, we'll get there. But can you at least admit you're drugged? You're not thinking very clearly because of _that_, at least?"

Bruce's fingers ghosted over the bracelet on his wrist. Well, he could concede that was true. He _was _drugged. "Fine."

"So do you believe that it is possible that your thought processes, including your judgment, _might _be influenced by that?"

Reluctantly, Bruce nodded.

"Then...can you trust me...and the others...to use our not-drugged judgment to the best of our ability on your behalf?"

That was harder to swallow. "But you don't _understand _how dangerous this is—"

Tony cut him off. "Not-drugged judgment is better than drugged judgment, Bruce. _Trust us_. Please. We're going to help you."

Bruce didn't know if they could. But he'd suspend his disbelief. It was the least he could do, after they were risking so much by bringing him here...

He realized Tony was waiting for some kind of a response. Even though he wasn't 100% sure that this was a good idea, he shrugged and then nodded anyway. "Fine. I'll...try." Because maybe, just _maybe, _being doped up on a strong sedative all the time wasn't the best for thinking clearly. Hell, he was a scientist, he could see how that could be true.

_But can you trust your judgment on that, Banner?_

And oh God, that was a convoluted path that he didn't want to walk down. He dismissed the thought abruptly.

Bruce's reaction clearly hadn't been as enthusiastic as Tony had hoped it would be, but he clapped one hand on Bruce's shoulder anyway. "That's all you can do, I guess."

* * *

Over lunch, Tony filled Bruce in on the more pertinent parts of his master plan.

"So, how do you feel about _not _being drugged?"

Tony had been expecting (perhaps optimistically, he conceded) some kind of vehement 'get me off this shit _now_' from Bruce. He was disappointed.

Bruce froze with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. He set it down again and mumbled, "I don't really think that's a good idea."

Inside, Tony raged against SHIELD and Bruce's complete and total lack of self-esteem. Outwardly (while commending himself on his newfound self-control), he calmly inquired, "Why not?"

"...It was a condition of my release, Tony."

Well, duh. Did Bruce really give him so little credit? "I _know _that. But I've been looking into it, and I think we can trick SHIELD, get you off their shit but make it look like you're still on it."

Clearly, as evinced by the way he was steadfastly staring at his sandwich, Bruce was not yet on board with this idea. "I don't know...I mean, it works. I haven't had an incident in nine months..."

Tony waved that off. "You were a year without an incident before you got pulled into the Avengers Initiative. So _don't _tell me you need a drug for that."

Bruce's eyes widened in surprise, remembering. Tony asked, "What, did you forget about that?"

"I...you're right." The disbelief in his voice was evident, and Tony wondered for what felt like the 20th time that day what the _fuck _had happened in the last nine months that Bruce had blocked out or forgotten huge tracts of his life. He seriously considered hacking SHIELD again to see if he could find the records.

Or, alternatively, he could ask Bruce. But for some reason, he found he was reluctant to do that. He knew that treating the physicist like a glass doll wasn't going to help anything, but flat-out asking about his time in SHIELD's custody felt like the opposite extreme, like he would be metaphorically bludgeoning Bruce with a baseball bat.

That seemed...harsh. So, SHIELD. Hack. Right.

Bruce had resumed quietly eating while Tony ruminated, like the idea of quitting his meds, directly defying SHIELD and risking being re-detained had just rolled off his shoulders. His placidity was unnerving. Bruce had never been placid before. He had been nervous, woven through with anxiety and awkwardness, constantly fidgeting. This stillness seemed completely foreign. Tony shook his head—that drug had to go, without a doubt. Bruce's enthusiasm for the idea be damned, because apparently Bruce was never going to be enthusiastic about anything, ever, at least until he was off SHIELD's 'miracle drug'—though, perhaps even that wouldn't be enough. But it was where he'd have to start. "Would you at least be willing to _try_?"

Bruce shrugged, and Tony took that as a 'yes.'

Tony brought Bruce down to his lab and spent the next few hours grilling him about SHIELD's labs and their medical testing procedures. Bruce was helpful, a veritable well of information, but he was also largely non-responsive, providing only the bare minimum of information until Tony pressed for more. This was incredibly frustrating, and Tony thought that maybe Bruce was being deliberately difficult. Because Bruce was a _scientist _and he understood the importance of thorough, accurate information, and he wouldn't hold back like this. Unless he was bored, or he didn't care, or if he was for some reason trying to tamper with Tony's work.

As it was, Tony felt like he'd said the words 'Could you be a little more specific' about a million times, and thought that he might actually choke if he had to say it once more.

But Bruce gave yet another vague answer, and Tony ground out, "Could you be. A little. More. Specific. Okay, just tell me. Are you doing this on purpose?"

"Doing what?" The confusion was real. So it wasn't deliberate.

Despite that, Tony was committed to figuring this out, now. Because if he had to keep prying for more information, they were going to be here all night. And perhaps through tomorrow. And very likely until the end of the damn week. "Why are you being so damn vague? We can't work like this."

"...What?" Tony watched the way Bruce's eyes drifted across the room, slowly coming to focus on him. And then Tony understood. He wasn't bored, or indifferent, or trying to screw up Tony's work. It was something else.

"Do you have any idea what's going on, or are you too stoned to focus?"

A beat of silence, then Bruce frowned in concentration. "I know what's going on." Tony had serious doubts. Bruce added, "And I'm not stoned. I'm...normal."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "This is _not_ normal. Not for you. You can't concentrate for five goddamn seconds, Bruce, that's not fucking _normal_. Not for anyone, but especially not for you."

Bruce fell into silence with a shrug.

Laboriously crushing his rising rage (Because SHIELD just hadn't taken Bruce and imprisoned him, drugged him, and ripped away his lingering shreds of self-esteem. They had taken his mind, his ability to _think_, his scientific acumen, and they had replaced it with _nothing_, those _bastards_), Tony went quietly back to his line of questioning. Anger wasn't going to help, but this project could.

When he'd gotten everything he needed (for the moment, at least), Tony sent Bruce back upstairs (with Steve, who been called for exactly this purpose) for a snack, because damn, Bruce needed to put on about ten pounds.

Alone with JARVIS, Tony dove into his work.

* * *

It took Bruce a week to notice that he was being babysat.

Probably, a lot of that had to do with the drug in his body that rendered his skills of observation largely non-existent. But, to be fair, the Avengers were fairly discreet about their task as well. At least until one of them blew their cover. Still, prior to that, they had all settled into a routine that kept Bruce surrounded by at least one other person almost constantly.

Bruce tended to wake up very early (a hazard of having east-facing windows and resolutely refusing to close the curtains...he'd missed the sun), and so he would spend some time in the lab with Tony, who (at 6:00 AM) had not yet been to bed. Sometimes, the billionaire would last until 10:00 or 11:00 before he'd call it quits and head upstairs to bed. More usual was 8:00 or 9:00.

Then Bruce would have breakfast, where various people would discreetly put more food on his plate that he would generally ignore, but sometimes made an effort to pick at. It seemed polite.

After that, he'd head to the patio on the Avengers' floor for yoga, and either Steve or Natasha (sometimes both, and on one memorable occasion Thor came as well) would join him. It was wonderful to get outside and get some sun and air after nine months of being largely confined to a room with no windows.

Yoga was followed by work. Or at least, attempts at work. Because focusing on anything for more than a few minutes was a struggle, and the ideas and theories that once felt so simple and natural to him now felt ungainly and awkward. Someone always came down to keep him company, and he appreciated it because being alone with his own newfound _idiocy _probably would have been his undoing without Natasha's snide remarks about their housemates, Clint's endless colorful scientific theories, or Thor and Steve's genuine curiosity.

Because if Bruce couldn't work on new things, he _could_, at least (without enough time and prompting) explain the old ones.

By 3:00 or 4:00, Tony would reappear and drag Bruce down the hall to check out his progress. He had been working to make a substance that would look like SHIELD's drug when tested, but would be completely inert and harmless in the body. This was made somewhat easier by Bruce's unusual physiology, which had a higher tolerance for toxicity. Because of that, the bounds of 'inert' and 'harmless' could be bent a bit. Not much, though, because Tony had something of a fixation on doing Bruce absolutely no harm.

Bruce didn't really see the necessity of the caution, but when he'd expressed as much Tony had just rolled his eyes and said, "Not-drugged judgment trumps yours, Banner," and had gone back to his synthesis. Bruce had not expressed that idea again.

Around 7:00, they'd break for dinner and most nights, Tony would disappear back down to the lab while resolutely insisting that Bruce do something _fun_. This had been something different every night, depending on who was around. One night, Natasha taught him how to throw knives. Steve took him for a motorcycle ride (_You're not a prisoner here, Bruce, you should get out once in awhile_). Thor had been trying to learn to cook for the last few months, so he enlisted Bruce as his assistant, and they spent two nights making desserts that could best be described as 'disasters.' Clint had taken it upon himself to teach Bruce some kind of martial art because 'Banner, you need to get some damn exercise, you look terrible.' And apparently, the assassins had a thing for spy movies, so they dragged Bruce into a movie marathon where they pointed out every single thing that was wrong, implausible, or ridiculous in the films. Eventually, the others had joined in, and on account of their commentary Bruce never did figure out what all of the Bourne movies were about.

Which was too bad. They had seemed interesting.

After fun was bed, and that was usually at a ridiculously early time, but that suited Bruce just fine. He tired easily, which he attributed to the fact that he had been living a completely sedentary life for almost a year. _ Being confined to a single room for nine months apparently does a number on your stamina, _he thought with some small amount of resentment, crawling into bed at 9:45 PM.

Throughout all of it, he was never alone, but he didn't think it was that odd. After all, they were a team, and they were more-or-less friends (a label that Bruce applied only with great hesitancy; could you ever really be friends with someone you might someday inadvertently kill?). So it made sense that they'd 'hang out.' Kind of. Right?

What he _did _think was odd was how they had apparently all united behind Tony's "not-drugged judgment trumps yours, Banner" rule. It came up a surprising amount. Of course, Tony was the only one who came out and used the exact phrase, but Tony had all the tact and grace of a rampaging pachyderm. The others were more subtle.

"Trust me," Clint had said with authority when Bruce mused that asking him to attack another person was possibly the most stupid, reckless thing he'd ever heard. Didn't Clint know how dangerous he was?

"Whatever, Banner," Natasha declared with a roll of her eyes when Bruce had expressed reservations about the intelligence of teaching a monster to use deadly weapons. "Compared to some of the people I've met, the Other Guy's not all that bad. Damn friendly, really."

"I don't think that'll be an issue," Steve assured him when Bruce observed that riding a motorcycle through Manhattan might prove dangerous for passers-by. "I think you can handle a little traffic."

So he trusted them, submitted to their judgment while battling with the quiet anxiety that tried to creep into him as he did it. The drug mostly kept the anxiety at bay, though, and nothing bad _did _happen during these small tests. But Bruce viewed that more as a series of isolated events than a trend, and each time there wasn't a disaster he was equally as surprised and relieved as he was the previous time.

Unbeknownst to him, the others noticed this, were frustrated by it, but did not mention it. Like Tony told them, "Hey, it's an improvement that he's trusting us at all, don't fucking blow it by pushing him, guys."

So for a week, Bruce attempted to trust the others, attempted to understand that, if nothing else, the drug in his body was impacting his judgment on a number of crucial issues, and he could not trust himself to make the right call. And he went through his days with very little time alone, with a constant honor guard, but he never really thought about _why_.

Until the seventh morning.

Bruce woke up earlier than normal. He considered just lying in bed for an hour until he'd normally get up, but for the first time in...a very long while, he actually felt like doing...something. So he got up, going through his normal routine of compensating for the dizziness and heavy-headedness that came with becoming vertical every morning, and made his way to the shower. He changed course, though, deciding that he'd rather get his morning yoga done, so he put on something more conducive to stretching and headed out to the balcony.

An hour later, the sun was beginning to rise, and so Bruce finished up and walked over to the edge, staring out over the city. He took another step forward, craning his neck to get a better look at the ground below. For being in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world, it was oddly peaceful up here.

Until someone grabbed his arm and _yanked _him away from the edge and into a tight embrace.

"What are you _doing_?"

Surprised, it took Bruce a minute to place the voice. It was Steve. Bruce twisted away from him and took a step back. He looked up at the supersoldier and slowly said, massaging his arm, "I could ask you the same thing."

Steve looked somewhat abashed when he replied, "Tony called and said he needed to talk to all of us, but your room was empty...then I saw you out here, leaning over the edge, and I thought..."

Steve's awkward reluctance to finish his sentence didn't help Bruce put it together as much as it should have, so it didn't click for an agonizingly long time.

But it did, eventually. "You thought I was going to jump." His tone was flat, completely lacking inflection. Once, that would have been concerning, but it differed so little from what they all accepted as his 'normal' delivery that Steve didn't know if he should be worried or not.

Tentatively, he affirmed, "Yeah. I did."

And Bruce gave him a ghost of a smile, a self-deprecating expression that all of them had come to know and hate over the last week. "I wasn't. It'd be pointless. I'd just dent the sidewalk."

That wasn't exactly the response Steve had been looking for; it lacked the crucial sentiment of 'I'm not going to jump because I don't want to die,' but he'd take it. For now. He took Tony's directive about not pushing Bruce very seriously.

But Bruce was giving him a strange look. Something else had just clicked, ages later than it should have. "You've been watching me. All of you."

He didn't sound angry (he never did, not anymore) but there was a certain set to his jaw that was different, like he was grinding his teeth or maybe trying not to laugh. Steve floundered for a moment, wondering what the appropriate response was, before deciding that he'd stick with honesty. It was his strong suit. "Yes. We have."

Bruce shook his head, smiling that little smile again. "That's nice. You didn't have to. I told Tony I wasn't going to...do anything."

"Actually, it was really more that you _can't _'do anything'," Tony said, stepping out onto the balcony. "And that's not really fucking reassuring, you know? So, forgive the concern. Whatever. We're not going to stop." He took a breath. "But that's not why I'm here. We need to talk." He turned and re-entered the Tower, beckoning for the other two to follow.

With a shrug (which had become one of his most commonly used gestures), Bruce obliged and followed him, with Steve bringing up the rear.

Tony led them to the living room, where Thor, Clint, and Natasha were already sitting.

"Morning, happy people!" Tony greeted them with buoyant cheer.

"Thought we agreed to have these little get togethers over lunch, Stark," Clint growled, glaring into his cup of coffee.

Tony waved him off. "This couldn't wait. I made an interesting discovery this morning."

"What, another new element?" Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Psh, I wish. No. I uh, hacked SHIELD again." He shot a quick, guilty look at Bruce, which the physicist missed but everyone else picked up on. Steve raised an eyebrow, but Tony shook his head slightly at him and finished, "And you will never guess what they've been hiding."

Clint set his coffee cup down heavily. "Do we even _want _to?"

"Oh yeah. Get this. You know all those detainees they've been releasing?"

Everyone just looked at him expectantly—it wasn't like they could forget. Tony decided to get to the point. "They're all going missing."

For several seconds, the silence was complete. Then Steve spoke up, "What? Is SHIELD...?"

Tony shook his head. "No. It's not SHIELD. SHIELD has been tracking all of them. But now most of them are just...gone. Sometimes there's signs of a struggle, sometimes they just vanish, but they've all just fucking disappeared. And..." he trailed off.

"What does this mean?" Thor inquired into the silence.

Tony shrugged. "Fuck if I know. Fuck if SHIELD knows. But that's not quite all. Not _all _of them have disappeared."

"Wait," Steve stepped in. "You just said—"

"They've found a couple of them. Dead. In pieces, mostly."

Everyone turned to look at Bruce, who was looking resolutely at the floor. It wasn't clear whether or not he'd even been listening until he said, "Well. That's...awful." He looked up. "Doesn't really bode well for me, does it?"

* * *

Thanks for coming to the party!

Reviews are pretty much the only meaningful part of my life. I'm not going to beg. But know that I considered it.


	5. Not So Bad

Serious Warnings: this chapter contains descriptions of psychological and physical torture. This section is marked (look for the **X**'s) so you can skip it if you're not interested in reading that kind of thing.

The Usual Warnings: Tony Stark's mouth, angst, general unhappiness.

As always, thanks to irite for the beta work.

I still do not own The Avengers.

* * *

Earlier that morning, a bit before 1:00, Tony had remembered that he'd been meaning to hack SHIELD for a couple of days. Well, he'd been meaning to check and see _if _he could hack SHIELD—he liked to think that, in the nine months since he'd last breached their firewalls and gone rifling around through their servers, they might have improved their security protocols. He might not be able to get in at all.

Which was probably optimistic, because the improvements they'd made to their security protocols after the _first _time he'd hacked them (during the events leading up to Manhattan) had been largely negligible. Still, he'd give them the benefit of the doubt.

Anyway, he'd had a half an hour or so until the analysis of his latest iteration of the replacement compound was finished, so he'd decided to put the time to good use and poke around.

Getting in wasn't a problem, which Tony found both exasperating and convenient. Finding the files he wanted to see was a little more complicated. None of the folder, sub-folder, or file names from SHIELD's medical facility referred to patients' names. In fact, opening a random file showed that SHIELD did not refer to patients by name in any of their electronic records. Tony suspected it was an amazingly low-tech way of maintaining patient confidentiality in case the system became compromised. In that, it was effective. But it made it a little tricky to find the files that related to Bruce.

In the end, he had to run a search that scanned the contents of the files for all of the identifying information he'd collected on Bruce over the duration of their acquaintance—date of birth, social security number, blood type...fingerprints.

The fingerprints, of all things, had brought up a file for patient 6533B, who was, once Tony opened the file and saw the picture, unmistakably Bruce. But that file was very vague and general, consisting only of the basic medical information that SHIELD had acquired when Bruce had been 'admitted.' The euphemism ('date of admittance,' read the file, and Tony thought it really should have read 'date of abduction') actually made Tony see red, and he had to stop what he was doing for a moment to calm down before he could run another search, this time for '6533B.'

It brought up significantly more results. Pages of them, in fact. With a few clicks, Tony had them organized by date of creation. Before opening any of them, he considered, for a moment, whether he really wanted to do this. Now that he was thinking about it, it kind of felt like a violation of Bruce's privacy, like he was digging into things that he had no business knowing. How would he feel, after all, if someone went digging through _his _medical records?

Well, honestly, he'd feel shitty. And so he'd just about talked himself out of proceeding when the thought, _There might be something useful about the drug somewhere in there_ floated across his mind. Which _was _true. In that light, Bruce's records could hold the key to Tony's research. Maybe. Right?

With a determined set to his jaw, he'd opened the first file, resolutely ignoring the guilt lingering at the back of his mind. This was necessary, so he'd do it.

Five minutes in, Tony was regretting his choice. He was absolutely sickened by what he'd seen so far, yet he was also somehow enthralled. And he couldn't stop reading.

The files were a mix of medical and psychological (_What the fuck, I didn't know that there were shrinks involved_) information about Bruce. There was, at first glance, very little information about the drug itself, except for a reference to its name—it was called "Gamma Mutation Suppression Serum" or "GMSS."

The seeming lack of pertinent information wasn't really an issue for Tony, though. He'd just need to dig deeper.

Once he'd gotten a feel for the file naming system, Tony decided he'd start with the medical notes. The glimpse he'd gotten into the notes from the psychologist assigned to Bruce's case had been...terrifying, and he needed to build up to that.

Although the records from the first couple of days of that Bruce had been with SHIELD were almost equally as frightening to read.

Apparently, Bruce's heart rate had not, for the three days before Tony and the others had gone to 'rescue' him, risen above 55 beats per minute, and had tended to hover more around 48-50 bpm. His blood pressure had also tanked. His extremities had begun to show signs of oxygen deprivation, which was not aided at all by the fact that he had been tied to the damn bed and unable to get his blood circulating.

Things had improved on that front later, though, once SHIELD had gotten confident enough to start lowering the dose. Eventually, they managed to adjust it so that Bruce wasn't constantly bradycardic, so that he could sit up without passing out. Barely. The doctors called this a 'success,' and they had sent the serum back to the labs so that the scientists could work out a better delivery mechanism.

Tony, personally, didn't think that it was a 'success.' Because while Bruce's heart rate and blood pressure had leveled out at a place that was conducive to life, he clearly hadn't been healthy. His weight had begun to drop dramatically. It had started during the first week of his detainment, but had begun to escalate about the time that the doctors worked out his medication levels. This seemed odd until Tony realized that was when Bruce had begun getting his nutrition from actual food and not from a tube running down his nose. Apparently, Bruce hadn't exactly been big on eating, and nobody at SHIELD had really been inclined to make him. The physicist had started a respectable (if maybe a bit scrawny) 5 foot 8 and 146 lbs. Within his first month with SHIELD, he'd dropped down to 138. The last measurement SHIELD had taken (from the day of his release) had Bruce down to 127 lbs, with a resting pulse of 59 beats per minute and blood pressure at the very, very low end of average.

Yeah, not exactly 'healthy.'

But as disheartening as all of that was, as far as the medical records went, there wasn't anything that Tony found surprising. Lots of blood tests, measurements, poking and prodding. It wasn't benign (because the circumstances of his 'admittance' removed that possibility entirely) but there wasn't really anything in the records to explain why Bruce had come back _shattered_.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

No. _That _had all been in the notes from the psychologist.

Tony had gotten to those just after 2:00 AM, after first easing his conscience with a couple glasses of scotch. Because, if he was honest with himself, he _knew _he had no business reading those notes—nothing there could possibly be relevant to his research. But his damn curiosity wasn't going to let him rest until it was sated, apparently, so he would see this through.

Even if it was...horrible.

The psych notes had kept him occupied for two hours: an hour and a half of reading, followed by a half an hour of having JARVIS talk him out of heading to SHIELD to take out every single person who had signed off on this 'treatment.' Including Nick Fucking Fury himself, if it came down to that.

It hadn't been 'treatment.' It had been torture, plain and simple, something so fucked up that Tony was left in horrified awe of whoever had come up with it.

**Treatment Goal** read the top of the first page. **Acceptance of GMSS treatment; full and consensual compliance to treatment protocol.**

**Other goals **said the second line. There, jotted seemingly quickly and indifferently were, 'weight gain, enrichment of habitat—reduce apathy?'

_Habitat_? _Like he's a fucking animal in the zoo, _Tony fumed.

His anger had been short lived, though, because reading the notes from Bruce's 'therapy' sessions left no room in him for any emotion except sick dismay.

It seemed inconceivable to Tony that _anyone _would ever voluntarily comply with the protocol SHIELD had designed. But Tony knew that Bruce hadn't exactly been...healthy, even before his time with SHIELD. Molding Bruce, reshaping him, bending him so that he _would _consent to the 'treatment' was made so much easier for them by the fact that Bruce had already been halfway to broken before he'd even made it into their custody. After all, this had been a man who believed that voluntarily causing harm to his own body was preferable to risking harming someone else. In fact, that it wasn't just preferable, it was unthinkable to do otherwise. Bruce had already thought he was dangerous, had already hated himself, was already nearly suffocating from the guilt of what he'd done.

SHIELD had just needed to build on that, really, to get him to acquiesce to being drugged. And build they had.

They started by convincing Bruce that he was dangerous. Of course, he already thought that, but they really wanted to drive it home.

Apparently, SHIELD had in their possession a chronological list of all of the destruction that the Hulk had ever wrought, which the psychologist went over with Bruce in excruciating detail no fewer than 50 times. Once a day for a month straight, then once a week after that, until Bruce could recite parts of it ad nauseum.

It was an impressive feat, given what Tony had seen of his ability to focus.

They had other ways of making their point, too. One file detailed a particularly awful session where the psychologist had dragged Bruce through a two-hour long, immensely detailed, and violent thought exercise of what would happen if he unexpectedly had an 'incident' in a heavily-populated area.

At the end of that file, the shrink had written, 'Patient seems to accept that he is inherently dangerous.'

Concurrently, they set out to convince Bruce that he needed the drug to control himself.

'Patient expressed belief that GMSS is not necessary to stay calm, but was convinced otherwise via demonstration,' the psychologist wrote, the notes from that day's (and the next, and the next, and the next...) session describing the series of increasingly cruel and disturbing ways she (and a group of agents armed with tranquilizer guns, just in case) had attempted to make Bruce lose control and failed.

After a week of electric shocks and nerve stimulation, hallucinogens and sensory overload, the psychologist concluded: 'Stimulation of anger, fear, and pain responses exceeded what patient believed himself capable of mitigating on his own; GMSS deemed beneficial by patient.'

Tony thought that 'stimulation of anger, fear, and pain responses' was possibly the worst euphemism for 'torture' that he'd ever heard.

The notes continued in much the same way for the duration of Bruce's detention, although after the first couple of sessions, the psychologists never went back to the 'stimulation of anger, fear, and pain responses.' All in all, the notes provided a careful documentation of how and why Bruce had completely lost touch with his emotions, with his rationality, with his memories. The process had been methodical, and thorough, and it made Tony completely sick.

After six months, 'therapy' had been a success and Bruce gave in completely ('Patient agrees that GMSS necessary for safety of self and others'), but they hadn't stopped the 'treatment' there. They'd opted instead to continue chipping away at whatever was left of Bruce's psyche until the day of his release. The last note from the psychologist read:

'Patient accepts GMSS treatment is necessary, agrees to comply fully and voluntarily with all future treatment. However, continued monitoring of compliance is recommended.'

It seemed like an awfully cold, clinical, summary for what amounted to nine months of torture.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX**

And that was really what had driven Tony into a rage. He was pissed off at what they had done to Bruce, of course, because that was _sick_. But they didn't even care, fuck, they thought they were doing the right thing. They were clueless, and oblivious, and so fucking stupid that it was infuriating. They had taken Bruce and _shattered _him, and they had made Bruce think that what they were doing was okay and they acted like it didn't even matter and...

JARVIS had talked him down, though, had stopped him from suiting up and slaughtering...what was her name? Dr. Catherine Locklear. That fucking bitch of a shrink who'd broken Bruce down completely, had crushed the pieces into dust, and then had gone home to her life like it didn't even matter. Jesus. How many other lives had she ruined, just doing her job? And her colleagues, what about them?

Furiously, Tony had done a search for her. He needed to know if she'd done this to anyone else. Soon, he had a list of her patients (by number only, of course), and he opened the first file, vaguely aware that he was now shamelessly snooping.

Tony didn't recognize the picture, but the word MISSING was flashing at the top of the page and that abruptly distracted him from his mission.

Apparently this particular 'patient' had been released from SHIELD's custody about two months before Bruce, and he had slipped SHIELD's watch three weeks ago. Had just vanished.

Tony didn't know that people _could _'just vanish' if SHIELD was watching them. Well, more power to the guy. Kudos. If his experience with SHIELD had been anything like Bruce's, he deserved to get the fuck away for awhile.

Feeling a bit calmer, Tony had clicked on the second name on the list. And felt his brow furrow when the file opened and he was greeted with another MISSING message.

_What the hell_?

Part of him secretly glad to have _something _to focus on, something to clear his mind, Tony went further down the list. Out of Locklear's 12 recently-released patients, including Bruce, five of them had vanished in the last month.

Tony changed his search parameters and managed to pull up a list of all the detainees who had been released from custody, both from medical and non-medical detention. There were quite a few, a couple hundred all told. And so far, over one hundred had gone missing.

More disturbingly, twelve had been recovered. Well, what SHIELD's forensics team believed to be twelve people. It was hard to get an accurate count when all you had was...pieces.

Intrigued, now, Tony dug just a little bit deeper. Just deep enough to ascertain that SHIELD was completely aware that _something_ was going on, but had no idea _what_. Only that the people they had been releasing from their custody were slowly disappearing and that, for once, SHIELD had nothing to do with it.

Tony was so distracted, so befuddled by this information that, instead of having JARVIS summon the others for a meeting, he picked up his phone. "Hey, Steve. Could you get everyone together? We need to talk..."

Without really listening for Steve's response, Tony hung up. He saved a copy of...everything to his own servers—he wanted to be able to take another look at the files if he needed to. Leaving everything to copy, he took the elevator up to the Avengers' floor. As he was crossing the kitchen, he saw Bruce and Steve out on the patio, conversing intensely. Tony headed over to see what was up. Standing just inside the door, where neither of them could see him, he listened.

"You've been watching me. All of you," Bruce said, sounding as if this revelation did not matter to him in the slightest.

Steve responded evenly, "Yes. We have."

"That's nice. You didn't have to. I told Tony I wasn't going to...do anything."

Ah. They were having _that_ discussion—the one where Bruce realizes he's been on suicide watch for a week. Awkward, but unavoidable. Tony braced himself and slipped out onto the patio. "Actually, it was really more that you _can't _'do anything.' And that's not really fucking reassuring, you know? So, forgive the concern. Whatever. We're not going to stop." Tony took a quick breath, and continued, "But that's not why I'm here. We need to talk."

He led them through to the living room, where Thor, Natasha, and Clint had already gathered. Clint made a snotty comment about the earliness of the hour, which Tony promptly brushed off because this was too important to wait. With very little preamble, he launched into an explanation of what he'd found regarding the missing detainees.

Clearly, Steve wanted to know why Tony had hacked SHIELD in the first place, but now really wasn't the time for that—to be honest, just looking at Bruce was pretty fucking hard right now. Anger and pity and guilt were fighting a vicious battle in Tony's chest, and he didn't want to lay that mess on the already-troubled physicist. Especially since he'd basically just told him that he was in imminent danger of disappearing and possibly winding up in pieces.

Which, admittedly, Bruce actually seemed to be taking really well. Or maybe he hadn't been listening. Had he even been listening?

Tony looked at Bruce, who was looking resolutely at the floor. After a few seconds, Bruce muttered, "Well. That's...awful." He looked up. "Doesn't really bode well for me, does it?"

* * *

No one replied for a few seconds, until Steve had said, shaking his head, "I don't think we should jump to any conclusions—"

"Um, I think it's kind of obvious that something is going on here, Cap—"

"Yeah, _something_, but I don't think we should assume Bruce is in danger—"

"Of course not, people are being kidnapped and chopped into pieces, _why _would we think Bruce is in danger—"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Boys." Tony and Steve stopped bickering abruptly. "Did you notice any pattern to the disappearances?"

"Not yet. I didn't look too closely. But I saved everything, so I can check again. Maybe write up a program to do it for me."

"You should do that," Steve advised, "And then—"

Bruce was sure this conversation was really very interesting, but there was something he wanted to know. It seemed...pertinent. "Why were you hacking SHIELD, exactly?" he interrupted, absentmindedly running his fingers over the bracelet on his wrist.

The silence stretched on just a hair too long to be normal before Tony answered, staring pointedly at a spot just above Bruce's head, "I was looking for more information about the drug; I wanted to see if they'd added anything new..."

It was a bad lie, but Bruce didn't notice. "Oh. Did they?"

"...No."

"That's...odd. I thought they were still testing—"

"I read your file." Everyone whipped around to stare at Tony, then at Bruce, the thought of the missing ex-detainees banished from all of their minds.

Even Tony looked surprised, like he hadn't meant to say that at all.

Bruce wasn't quite sure what he'd heard. "Um. What?"

"I read your file," Tony stated again. "I'm sorry, but I needed to know, and I thought there might be something useful in there and that's no fucking excuse, I should have just asked—"

"Was there?"

"What?"

"Was there anything useful in there?" And, damn, something about the unmistakably stricken way Tony was looking at him told Bruce that he'd made some kind of misstep in the conversation, and he slowly traced back over his words to find the error. He alighted on a possibility. "Oh. You invaded my privacy."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry—"

Bruce shrugged and gave a small smile. "Not like you're the first person who's done that, Tony." Because what else had his time with SHIELD been but one long, extensive, thorough invasion of privacy? It didn't even really bother him, anymore, that feeling of being _exposed_ and _raw_ and _vulnerable_.

Well, maybe it did. A little. But that didn't matter; he'd deal. He was good at that, dealing with things. The problem was that nobody else seemed to agree.

And apparently, he had said the wrong thing again; Tony now looked positively sickened. "That doesn't make it _okay_, Banner, Jesus."

"Tony...how could you do that?" Steve asked, and his reproachful tone apparently rubbed Tony the exact wrong way.

"_Fuck you_, Rogers, it's not like you've never done anything shitty."

"No one is accusing you of being...'shitty,' Stark, we are just...how shall I say it...surprised at your methods. For if you wanted to gain information about Dr. Banner, would it not be best to ask him directly?" Thor didn't sound disapproving, just curious.

With some consideration, Bruce decided that he thought that might be a reasonable thing to suggest. "Why _didn't _you just ask?"

And Tony actually looked embarrassed when he answered, "I didn't want to...remind you of what had happened..."

Bruce's eyebrows crept up. "Really? It wasn't that bad, I'm not going to have flashbacks or something if you—"

"It wasn't that bad," Tony repeated, his tone hard and flat.

Bruce struggled with being interrupted, and consequently took a second to regroup. "...Yeah? What's—"

"It wasn't that bad?"

"Stark, what's wrong?" Clint asked, because the repetition was getting weird.

Abruptly, Tony stood. "Do you mind if the rest of them look at the file?" he queried, gesturing at the assembled Avengers around the room. Bruce shook his head once, slowly. "Great. Hell, maybe you should take a look, too. It's on my server; JARVIS will help you guys find it. I'm going to go work out a program to search for patterns in the disappearances. I'll be in my lab if you need me." He stalked back towards the elevator.

Baffled, Bruce shook his head. "I don't...what's up with him?" It felt like he'd missed something obvious.

Steve cast a concerned look first after Tony, then at Bruce. "I might know."

But he didn't elaborate.

After a brief, heated conversation, the others decided to take Tony's advice and see what was in Bruce's file.

Bruce, as it turned out, wasn't particularly interested in reading his file—it wasn't like there was anything in there that he didn't already know. And he didn't mind the others looking at it, because they should really be as prepared as possible for when things went south. And, hell, maybe they'd finally snap out of their collective delusion that _he _was deluded and they'd finally see the truth of how dangerous he really was.

Once they'd seen the evidence, it would be undeniable.

So he opted to flop on one of the couches in the living room while the others gathered in the kitchen around the laptop that Clint had grabbed from his room.

Reasonably certain that they'd all be busy for at least the duration of a medium-to-long nap, Bruce dozed off.

* * *

Tony found it kind of amazing that, after a week, Bruce could still do and say things that just left him completely floored.

Every single time Tony thought he'd gotten a handle on everything, that he'd finally gotten to the bottom of the barrel of Bruce Banner's Shocking and Disturbing Revelations, Bruce reached down and pulled out something new and horrifying that Tony had to struggle to wrap his head around.

And he thought he'd been doing really well with it, that he'd been handling Bruce's curveballs with something approaching maturity and fortitude, and then Bruce had thrown that last one at him and he'd _snapped_.

Which, Tony thought, was probably due to the fact that he'd just spent the entire night reading about one of his best friends spending nine months undergoing torture. And that he had uncovered information that seemed to indicate that same friend might soon become the victim of some kidnapper/murderer who was targeting SHIELD's ex-prisoners.

It had been stressful. Damn stressful.

The phrase "It wasn't that bad," had been the icing on the stressful cake. Because Tony had read the file, damn it, had _just_ finished poring through pages of notes detailing the disgusting, fucked up things that had been done to Bruce. But Bruce had just dismissed it, negated it, made it out like it was _nothing_.

To Bruce, it was. Because to him, it had only been what he'd deserved. To him, SHIELD had been entirely in the right. And even if he hadn't thought so at the beginning, he sure as hell thought so by the end.

This, Tony knew for certain. Because he had read the file, had practically watched the whole thing happen. He'd seen exactly how SHIELD had taken Bruce apart.

Tony rested his head in his hand, slumped over his desk. Well, he'd seen how Bruce had been undone, and that was something. Something constructive could come out of this. Tony knew where the pieces were, now, at least, and maybe that could prove to be the key in picking them up and putting them back together.

With a sigh, Tony stood, remembering that he'd set his latest attempt at a GMSS-replacement (funny how easily the acronym slipped into his vernacular) to analyze hours ago. He headed down to the chemistry lab that he'd commandeered to check on his results.

It was another negative, but he was getting closer. He made a couple of notes about possible alternatives, then decided to work out a program to crawl the files he'd pulled from SHIELD for patterns. The sooner he got that done, the sooner he'd be able to determine if Bruce was or was not in danger of being kidnapped and/or cut up.

Tony was halfway done (and seriously considering going to bed, because damn it was late. Early? No, late) when Steve appeared in the doorway behind him.

"So, um. We need to talk," the supersoldier said by way of greeting.

Tony spun around in his chair so he was facing Steve, taking in his haunted, vaguely nauseated appearance. "You're done reading?"

"Yeah. That was..."

"Fucked up, right?"

Steve nodded, although he frowned at Tony's choice of words. "And Bruce..." he trailed off again.

Tony gave a half-shrug. "At least we know what we're dealing with, right? We're prepared, now."

"Do you really think so?"

And really, given how the last week had gone, there was really only one true answer to that.

"Absolutely not."

* * *

Well, that was fun.

You might have figured this out already, but just in case you haven't…I like reviews. I get all warm and fuzzy inside when I get one. Unless it's mean, then I sob uncontrollably for days. Seriously, though, review. Please?


	6. Evidence

Warnings: some mentions of torture, language, the usual kind of stuff.

My beta, irite, is the best. Really.

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

"Is he asleep?" Clint had asked, peering into the living room, where Bruce was sprawled on one of the couches, eyes closed, breathing even.

Steve popped his head through the door. "Looks like it. But let's keep an eye on him, just in case." He turned back to Natasha, who was in front of the laptop. "Did you find the file?"

"Files," she corrected absently, scrolling through the documents. "There are quite a few here."

JARVIS had helped her locate the relevant files, repeating Tony's search strings and organizational schema so that everything was laid out in front of them chronologically and by subject. Still, even with that kind of assistance, it was still a daunting task ahead of them, and she wasn't quite sure where to start. Or, really, even if she wanted to.

"Mr. Stark started with the files marked 'medical,' Agent Romanoff," JARVIS suggested helpfully.

Well, Tony had seemed to think this was necessary. And he didn't do things 'just because.' There was something in here that he thought they ought to know. She had a feeling she knew what it was.

With a small sigh, she opened the top file, and Clint, Steve, and Thor leaned in around her to read.

For an hour, they pored over the medical information that Tony had perused a few hours previously. It was...disgusting, Natasha thought, that these 'doctors' had documented the decline in Bruce's physical state so thoroughly, but had not felt obligated to do something about the fact that he was very nearly underweight, hypotensive, and on the verge of passing out _constantly_. She had known, of course, that SHIELD was involved in medical testing, but had assumed that they were ethical about it. There were guidelines for this kind of thing, put in place to prevent this kind of sick shit from happening.

Well. There were strict guidelines for 'human' research, anyway. 'Non-human' research, she was learning, had an entirely different set of rules. _Flexible _rules.

When they had finished reading the medical records, all of them—Thor included—looked pale and drawn.

"Do you guys want a break? Come back to this later, maybe?" Clint asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Or should we keep going?"

"Perhaps we should continue," Thor stated. "I do not think that this will be easy, no matter the circumstances. We should finish quickly."

Steve looked into the living room, noting Bruce's unchanged position. "Thor's right. We might as well get this over with." He thought of how tense and...upset Tony had been, the way he had stalked from the room. Clearly, whatever he'd read in Bruce's file had disturbed him. "Probably better to get a handle on this ASAP. Whatever 'this' is."

So Natasha opened the first file from the psychologist.

The next hour was not as quiet as the first hour had been.

"I find this most distressing," Thor said, ten minutes in, sounding dismayed. "What good could possibly have come from this...torment?"

Though they each wondered the same thing, no one had an answer for him.

Several pages later, Steve came upon a term he didn't recognize, and inquired, "What's...phencyclidine?" He stumbled over the unfamiliar word, the arrangement of letters awkward and ungainly on his tongue.

Whatever it was, it looked like they'd given it to Bruce for the better part of a week...

"PCP," Clint answered shortly. "It's a drug. Hallucinogen. More or less, anyway. Pretty nasty." He was reading quite a bit further down the page, his jaw clenched tightly. Abruptly, he straightened and walked away, leaning against the counter and taking a few deep breaths. He didn't usually show this much emotion in public, which was telling.

It caught Natasha's attention, and she looked up from the screen. "Clint?"

"Keep reading," he instructed, his voice tight with anger.

He could tell when they got to the part about what they'd done _after _drugging Bruce with the PCP because the increasingly horrified expressions on their faces were kind of hard to miss.

"Why...he already...they didn't need to _convince_ him, he...how could they _do_ this?" Steve was having trouble wrapping his mind around the cruelty of it, struggling to reconcile what SHIELD had done with what he'd seen of them when he'd worked for them. They just hadn't seemed this _evil_.

"There are different standards for non-humans," Clint said. "You can treat them differently by law. It's not an excuse, Christ no, but...that's how they justify it to themselves. How they can sleep at night." He walked back towards the table. "Ready to keep going?"

No one was, but they rallied to it anyway. Bruce was their friend, and if he had to experience all this shit, well, then, the least they could do was read about it.

They finished maybe half an hour after that, and they all stood in stunned silence, reading the last line of the report over and over again.

"...'Agrees to comply fully and voluntarily with all future treatment?'" Steve read aloud, disbelief evident on his face. "_Why_?"

Natasha stood up and leaned in the doorway, looking into the living room at Bruce's still-sleeping form. "He thinks he deserved that, you know. All of it. He thought that before...all of this. They just took advantage of it. Of course he would agree to comply. _Of course _he would."

And if Steve thought about it, it did make perfect sense. But that didn't make it any easier to stomach. "I need to talk to Tony."

He swept from the room.

* * *

When Bruce awoke, he was not alone. And that did not surprise him.

What did surprise him was that it was Thor who was keeping him company. He hadn't spent a lot of time with the demigod, at least, not as himself, but in the time they'd known each other, Thor had never struck Bruce as a sit-by-your-bed-and-watch-you-sleep type.

Or, a sit-by-your-couch type, as the case may be.

But then, they _had _all been settling in to read his file before he'd gone to sleep. Probably, they'd finished by now. They'd figured out how dangerous he was and assigned Thor as a guard. He was the only one who stood a chance against the Other Guy.

Okay, so, that made sense now that he was thinking about it.

Bruce sat up slowly, brushing his hair back out of his face and trying not to fall over or vomit—both of which were quite possible. He fondly remembered a time when waking up _wasn't _accompanied by nausea and dizziness bad enough to knock him down, but those days were apparently at an end and well, he could deal with the new reality. The end result was so much better than the alternative.

But he wasn't quite sure he could deal with Thor.

"Dr. Banner. Are you well? Is there anything I can do to aid in your comfort?" Thor inquired gravely, looking entirely out of place in the squashy recliner he'd settled into.

This was not exactly the scenario Bruce had been constructing in his mind. His had started out with him being transported to a secure containment cell somewhere in the Tower. Or maybe sent back to SHIELD. Consequently, he didn't have an appropriate response prepared, and so it was after an unusually long pause that he replied, "I'm...hungry?"

Thor, who had been becoming concerned at Bruce's lengthy silence, leaned forwards and placed a large hand on Bruce's bony shoulder. "Of course. Anything you desire, I shall prepare for you at once."

This was really not what he'd been expecting. But Bruce knew all about Thor's cooking abilities (from their work together earlier in the week), and there was something kind of awkward about being waited on by a prince (especially when you _should _be en route to containment like the subhuman creature you are), so Bruce struggled to his feet. He swayed there for a minute before muttering, "I think I can manage."

Thor followed him to the kitchen.

Both Clint and Natasha were sitting at the table. Clint's hands were folded on the table in front of him, and he was staring at them, his expression stony. Natasha was gazing at a point directly to the left of Clint's head. They were entirely silent.

When Bruce walked in, though, they both turned to look at him. Bruce froze in the doorway and stared back.

They seemed...tense. That was good. They were on their guard.

"Can we...get you something?" Natasha asked him, her eyes sweeping up him from bottom to top. A muscle in her jaw twitched.

Bruce wondered if maybe he should just make this easier for everyone so they could stop dancing around it. "Look, I get it. I don't mind. I just...kinda want to eat first. The food at SHIELD is terrible." Shouldn't he get one last request?

"SHIELD?" Clint repeated, beginning to look...something. Nauseated, maybe, or faint. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"...Didn't you read my file?"

What Bruce was suggesting clicked, and Clint's eyes flashed. He stood up, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor loudly. "Christ, Banner, we're not sending you back to them!"

"Oh. Then...is there somewhere here you want me to go?" He was thinking containment cells, mostly, though he wasn't entirely opposed to...Guatemala, or maybe Peru. The North Pole. Anywhere they wanted to send him, really.

Natasha stood up more gracefully than Clint had and indicated her chair. "Here. Sit."

Bruce took the offered seat, feeling confused.

"Now. Do you need anything? Sandwich? Soup? There's leftover pizza, if Thor didn't get to it."

"I...did. My apologies."

Natasha shook her head. "Well, how about a sandwich? I think I can manage that." Without waiting for his response, she began moving through the kitchen. "What kind of mustard do you like?"

This question had stymied him before, he seemed to remember. "All of them."

A moment later, she placed a plate in front of him, along with a glass of milk, and he felt suddenly (though perhaps not inexplicably) like the world's most dangerous five year old.

She sat down next to him, and Clint took his seat again. After a moment, Thor joined them. For several minutes, they watched Bruce eat in silence.

Until Natasha spoke. "What SHIELD did to you was wrong." She was questioning the wisdom of barreling into this, but after what she'd read, she couldn't just say _nothing_. Reading Bruce's file had felt like being punched in the stomach, repeatedly, and she couldn't take that in silence.

Bruce finished chewing his bite of sandwich and swallowed before replying, "It's not so black and white—"

"No. This _is _black and white. It was wrong."

"It wasn't just wrong, Banner, it was _evil_," Clint backed her up, sounding completely disgusted.

Bruce shook his head minutely, wishing that he could just eat in peace without having to explain the moral gray areas that had surrounded the Other Guy since his conception. "Look, they were entirely within their rights, they were just trying to remove a potential threat. I mean, they could have just killed me, well, not really, but—"

"They tortured you." Natasha's tone left no room for argument.

But Bruce decided to argue anyway. "No, it wasn't anything like that; it wasn't that bad, really."

Clint gave a bark of frustrated laughter. "Really. Because dosing someone with fucking PCP and then shocking them half to death is a perfectly ethical procedure, right? What kind of 'threat removal' is _that_?"

Well, when he put it that way, it sounded pretty awful. But Bruce had been there, he _knew _what had happened, so he maintained, "It wasn't...I didn't...it was my fault, for being difficult. I was being stubborn, and that just...needed to be done. They did the right thing."

And now even Thor looked aghast, so clearly that hadn't been the right thing to say. Shit.

"Remember that thing where you were going to trust our judgment in lieu of yours, Banner?" Natasha asked, pained. "Now would be a really good time to try that."

Bruce cocked his head slightly to one side, considering. He didn't feel like he was being irrational, that the drug running through his body was impacting his judgment, but then, he _wouldn't_. It was tricky to tell, wasn't that the point Tony had been trying to make all along? Still, he made one more attempt at diplomacy. "Can't we just agree to disagree?"

"Fuck _no_, we can't!" Clint burst out, hopping out of his chair and beginning to pace. "What that Locklear bitch did was _sick_, and you're just okay with it?"

Hmm. Locklear. Bruce hadn't thought about her in a week. Her name jarred something inside of him, something unpleasant, but he pushed back against it, trying to will himself back into placidity. Placid was safe. Placid meant no 'accidents,' no way that people could get hurt.

When Bruce tuned back in, Clint was still ranting, "And she convinced you that you're some kind of monster and you deserved everything that they did to you and that's just—"

Bruce wished that Clint would drop it. Because thinking about Locklear had left him feeling...something. Something that he couldn't _quite_ banish, and he sure as hell didn't want to go down that path, not now. In fact, he needed to just stop thinking, because he could feel frustration starting to inch its way through his midsection and that needed to stop _now_. Which meant that this conversation needed to stop. Now. This could _not _happen.

Bruce stood, unsteady.

Thor immediately reached out a hand to steady him, but Bruce pulled away. "I'm fine."

He turned to leave, but ended up walking straight into Tony, who had reappeared in the doorway with Steve. "That's cute that you think so," the billionaire said, "But you're really not."

The frustration that had been simmering inside him burst into a full boil. Already flustered by his impeded exit, the conversation with the assassins and the demigod, and everyone's stunning inability to see things his way, plus the unpleasant stirrings in his mind that Locklear's name had roused, Tony's condescending remark was really just icing on the cake.

For the first time in nine months, Bruce felt a surge of irritation strong enough to spur him into action, and he shoved Tony roughly to the side and growled, "Get out of my _way_, Stark."

Tony took a step back and then froze. Because Bruce had gone completely still, his shoulders rigid, his expression...stricken. For several seconds, they stared at each other, before Tony reached a hand up to Bruce's shoulder and let it rest there. "You okay?"

For several seconds, Bruce did not answer. When he did, it was hesitant, quiet, all traces of his outburst vanished. "I...nothing happened."

"Yeah?"

"I was...annoyed. I think. I pushed you."

"...Yeah?" Inside, Tony was jumping for joy, but he didn't want to ruin this by overreacting. Bruce needed to draw this conclusion on his own.

"And nothing happened?"

"Nope! Look at that, Bruce, you got pissed off at me and didn't smash me or anything! Mark the calendar!" Well, Tony couldn't help but guide him along a bit. Bruce needed to see how pivotal this was.

Bruce apparently didn't see any humor in the situation, and he didn't see it as pivotal. "Oh my God, I could have—_you _could have—"

"Shut up," Tony interrupted him. He couldn't stomach hearing Bruce regurgitate SHIELD's brainwashing any more today, and he couldn't let Bruce miss the point. "Just...shut up. You're good. I'm good. We're all good. You had an emotion and didn't Hulk out, so let's count that as a fucking victory, 'kay? Not that I think it's a huge thing, but you apparently do. So let's have cake or some shit. JARVIS, is there cake?"

"I'm sorry sir, but no. There is ice cream available, however."

Bruce had one more point to make. He rubbed the bracelet on his wrist. "This stuff is supposed to stop that from happening, though, so...is it not working?" Because that was dangerous, should be rectified immediately. Someone needed to call SHIELD, set up testing to see if he was developing tolerance...

Tony stopped his quest for bowls and spoons and faced the physicist. "Look, Bruce. I've read the files, I've looked at the chemical structure, I've done lab tests. That shit can't stop you from having emotions. It can only make you so apathetic that you don't care about anything enough to have emotions. It's not a miracle drug. I just managed to piss you off enough that you finally _did _care."

Bruce didn't believe him. "Why would they let me out, if that's true? That's way too dangerous..." He felt suddenly vulnerable, like his safety blanket had been ripped away. Was Tony saying that there was _nothing _standing between them and disaster? "I don't...I need to stay calm, or people are going to get hurt."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Trust me. Us. That shit is not giving you control; you could do that on your own without it. Now let's have some damn ice cream and celebrate. You're not a 'time bomb,' Banner. You've got this."

Considering Tony's words, Bruce wordlessly accepted the bowl Steve handed him a moment later.

* * *

Over the next week, Bruce began to come around to the idea that maybe, just maybe, his thinking wasn't entirely logical.

The first cracks in his certainty were chiseled by Tony, sure. The billionaire's unrelenting assertion that Bruce was 'delusional' was kind of hard to ignore. But it was ultimately Bruce's own mind that set itself free.

Well, more free, anyway.

After his tiny outburst in the kitchen, Bruce's first reaction had been to run, to get away from these people who provoked in him the things that he was trying to extinguish.

But he didn't _want _to run, not anymore, not when there was movie night, and yoga, and early mornings in the lab. Bruce knew it was weak, that he was being selfish, but he didn't _want _to leave.

Barring that, he thought an acceptable alternative would be to clamp down all the tighter, to ruthlessly beat down every shadow of emotion that drifted across his psyche. But he found that these emotions were really hard to ignore. Because now that Tony had mentioned it, had brought up the idea that Bruce had not been rendered incapable of feeling, Bruce discovered that he _wasn't _as calm and empty as he'd thought he was. He had not been voided of all emotion after all; they had all just been dampened, thrust below the threshold where he'd notice them. Now he was attuned to them, though, and he could not deny that he was reacting to his environment in ways that he had been promised (or had he promised? He couldn't remember) would no longer occur.

The day after the drama in the kitchen, Bruce had been attempting some kind of productivity in the lab, and Clint and Natasha had been sitting at one of the tables, bickering over something entirely inconsequential. They were getting progressively louder, though, and he couldn't really concentrate anyway, but soon all he could hear was _them_ instead of his own thoughts, and he'd snapped, "You know, one of you could leave. Or both. That would be _fine_."

They looked up, surprised, before holding a lengthy non-verbal conversation. Irritated at their reluctance to go, he'd added, terse, "I'm not going to, I don't know, jump out a window or something, haven't you been listening to me for the last week?"

Still, they didn't move, so Bruce reached for the nearest object (which was an electric pencil sharpener) and lobbed it at both of them.

Clint caught it deftly and set it on the table before they both slipped wordlessly from the lab.

Later, Bruce had been apologetic, and horrified, and had worried over his loss of control. But he couldn't deny that he'd been annoyed, and (more importantly) he couldn't deny that he hadn't felt even the slightest bit of feedback from the Other Guy. He had been annoyed _and i_n control, and it served as more proof that emotions and Hulking Out did not necessarily go hand-in-hand.

Tony treated this second outburst as yet another cause for celebration, and Bruce found himself having more ice cream.

Two days later, Tony had approached him again about the whole hey-you-might-be-in-danger thing. The billionaire had dropped the subject for a while, lacking any further information about what he'd found hacking SHIELD might mean. But he'd set up an alert so that if any of SHIELD's files were edited, he'd know, and as soon as another former detainee was marked as 'missing,' Tony had been spurred back into action. His first order of business had been to suggest that Bruce not leave the Tower. Ever. Not even for morning yoga on the patio.

The two scientists had actually had a pretty heated exchange about that, bandying around phrases like "gross overreaction" and "masochistic disregard for your own well-being," before Bruce turned on his heel and stalked from the room, isolating himself for the next four hours.

When he emerged from his bedroom, Tony gave him ice cream. Again.

And Bruce, though he found the reward system a little ridiculous, couldn't deny that these incidents merited celebrating. He hadn't lost control, hadn't killed anyone, and even though he could constantly _feel_ his emotions now, he _couldn't _feel the Other Guy, even when Tony was being an obnoxious, paternalistic mother hen.

It was evidence that his control over his emotions didn't need to be so...absolute. And it was kind of unequivocal. Because he_ knew _that any emotion, any loss of the rigid control he held over himself, would result in disaster, yet he'd let his control slip with no repercussions at all. So clearly, what he knew was wrong.

Clearly. It was the only logical conclusion he could draw from the evidence.

But the fact that it was the logical conclusion didn't quell his lingering worry, not entirely. He still could not stop believing that he was on a precipice, that he was walking a tightrope that would snap at the slightest bit of added tension. It was an entirely illogical belief, untouchable by reason, and it was _that_, more than anything, which convinced him that something might be wrong with how he was thinking.

He was never really shy about admitting when he'd been wrong, or when he'd hit a wall in his work, so he thought he could maybe run his conundrum by the other scientist in residence and see if Tony could offer any useful insight on his apparent illogicality.

That was how, a week after his first outburst, Bruce found himself musing to Tony, entirely out of the blue, "I have evidence, but it's not good enough."

Tony was peering intently at the readout from the GC-MS on the screen in front of him, but he looked up at Bruce's words. "What do you mean?"

"I have evidence that what I think is wrong, but I haven't changed my views."

Tony, though surprised by the timing, knew exactly what this was about (because this was something that was constantly on his mind), and was tempted to say something helpful like, 'That's because you've been brainwashed, dumbass.' He refrained, opting instead for the more neutral, "Oh?" He did not betray how eager he was for Bruce's next words, how much he wanted Bruce to make the next connection.

"Yeah..." Bruce trailed off.

Tony had gotten used to these silences, knew that Bruce might or might not pick up where he'd left off on his own. So he waited half a minute before prompting, "And?"

Bruce looked momentarily startled, like was legitimately surprised to find himself in this situation, in this room, having this conversation, before pushing his glasses roughly up his nose. "Oh. Um. I think you're right."

That was one of Tony's favorite things to hear. "About?" He was trying really hard to keep himself out of this conversation, to let Bruce take this at his own pace. It was important that Bruce get there on his own, because that was probably the only way he'd ever accept it as true.

"I might be...having some trouble thinking clearly." The admission was reluctant, but Tony seized on it.

"Why do you say that?"

The silence stretched on for a whole minute this time.

"It's bad science," Bruce said decisively, after exactly sixty-four seconds. "Not believing the evidence. That's bad science."

"Then...trust the evidence?" Tony suggested.

"But...it's just counterintuitive. And if I'm making a mistake—"

"You're not."

Bruce looked up sharply, stunned by the rock-solid certainty in Tony's voice. "How can you be sure?"

Tony rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. "Because _I _can trust the evidence. And I trust you. You're not making a mistake. Promise."

Bruce wished it was that easy for him. But at least now he _knew_ he was being illogical, even if he couldn't quite, well, stop.

* * *

For another hour, they sat in relative silence. That is to say, they did not speak. But Tony turned up his music, and so they sat in the midst of the ear-shattering noise, effectively preventing any further conversation.

Until Tony abruptly looked up from his data analysis, looked squarely at Bruce, and said, "Mute."

Then: "I've got it."

It took Bruce a moment to answer, like it always did. "What?"

"I've got it. The GMSS replacement I've been looking for. It's done."

"What do you mean?"

Tony stood up. "I mean, I've created something that looks enough like that shit you're on to fool even the most sensitive machinery into giving a false positive. I mean, it's done, Bruce. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks. But it's done. We can get you off that GMSS shit, get you back to _normal_." For a moment, he wondered if 'normal' was really what they should be striving for, given what 'normal' Bruce had been like, but he brushed those thoughts away. Anything had to be better than watching his friend wander around in a drugged haze.

But Bruce didn't look happy, or excited, or even particularly interested in Tony's news. "Oh."

And that was annoying. "_Oh_? That's it?"

"Well...I'm glad you figured it out." The perpetual lack of inflection in Bruce's voice made it hard to tell if he really _was _glad, or was just saying what he thought Tony wanted to hear.

Tony pressed, "Are you ready to move into testing? Ready to ditch the GMSS?"

"...I don't know if we should be so...hasty, Tony."

Well, duh, Bruce _wouldn't _be particularly eager to test something like this on himself. Tony could have smacked his forehead. "Want me to try it first?" Tony used a pipette to draw some of the liquid out of the beaker he'd been working with, putting it into a small vial.

Bruce leveled him with something approaching a glare. "No."

"Bruce, it's safe, I guarantee it. It's not going to, I don't know, turn me into a rage monster or something—"

"That's not what I'm worried about."

Tony tried a different angle. "Is it SHIELD? They won't be able to tell that you're off their fucking drug, Bruce. They're not going to have a reason to take you back into custody."

"...No."

"Okay, then...what?"

"Do you think it's safe?"

"Of course it's safe, I told you, it's inert...that's not what you mean, is it?"

Bruce shook his head.

"Look. I told you. I trust you. I trust that you're not going to go green and smashy if you're not on this bullshit drug. You can, fuck, have emotions and shit without causing property damage. Haven't you seen enough evidence of that yourself?"

"I've seen...some evidence."

"Would more evidence help?"

Bruce gave a short laugh. "Honestly? Probably not. We went over this."

Tony nodded slowly. "Then let's go forward with this. I promise nothing bad is going to happen."

After a lengthy pause, Bruce lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. He didn't trust himself, but maybe he could trust Tony. "Sure. What's the worst that can happen?" It was sarcastic, but a moment later his eyes widened minutely and he looked legitimately concerned as something occurred to him.

"What?" Tony asked, preparing for some new disaster.

Bruce scratched his chin thoughtfully, then rubbed at the bracelet on his wrist in the way he did whenever something made him aware of its presence. "I don't suppose...did you think about withdrawal?"

As a matter of fact, Tony had. Sort of. In that he had thought of it just now. "Um, sure. The structure of the replacement is close enough to the GMSS that it shouldn't be a problem." In theory, anyway.

Bruce wondered if his doubts were _irrationally _pessimistic or realistically pessimistic.

He just couldn't tell anymore.

* * *

I'm sorry about the delay on this. My sister got married last Saturday, and it threw off my groove. Meaning that I didn't write at all for a week, and then when I finally did, I was too neurotic and hated everything, so I struggled and angsted and deleted before finally finishing this chapter. The struggling/angsting/deleting is better now. Mostly. So I'm back on track.

Please review. You know they make me happy.


	7. All Better

Warnings: language, some not-very-graphic references to dismemberment.

Many thanks to my beta-buddy/Bruce Banner Fangirl Friend, irite, for beta-buddying and Bruce Banner Fangirling.

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

The GMSS had rendered Bruce largely incapable of masking his feelings (which wasn't a problem for him, most of the time, because until recently he hadn't felt anything, and even now he didn't feel _much_), so the doubt on his face at Tony's assertion that withdrawal wouldn't be an issue was apparent. Clear as day, in fact.

"Look, I can diagram it out if you want," Tony reassured him. "Draw the molecules. Hell, you can do it yourself if that'll make you feel better. But withdrawal? Not gonna be a problem."

And Bruce wound his way through a convoluted train of logic (_You can't trust your judgment. Your judgment says 'don't trust him.' So you _should _trust him) _before nodding slowly. "Okay."

"Okay? Okay, let's do this, you mean?"

"Yeah."

Tony clapped his hands together. "Fucking right, let's do this. Okay. So, unless SHIELD's completely fucking stupid, which I have my doubts about, they're going to do hair testing, so we need to keep you on this new shit all the time and not just before you go in for the tests. Um...I need to make more. Set up some kind of mass-production thing..." He continued to mutter to himself, jotting notes down on his tablet for a moment.

Bruce looked on in silence, idly rubbing at the buckle on the bracelet, his new nervous habit.

"All right," Tony stated definitively, setting his tablet down. "That should be easy enough to implement. Now, I've got enough here for about three days...do you want to do animal testing first?" Tony didn't think it was necessary—he wasn't always the best about following protocol—but he thought Bruce would probably appreciate the option.

There were several beats of silence before Bruce replied, "I...yeah. If it's not a problem."

It _wasn't_ a problem, but it _was _annoying_. _Tony did not express this, though, too pleased that Bruce was both participating in the process and expressing a want. "Sure. Fine. We can use the mice from next door. If something goes wrong, Hulk-mice probably won't be much of an issue."

Bruce did not look amused at the idea of Hulk-mice, and so Tony quickly deflected, "So, er, let's get started on that."

They (well, really, Tony did because Bruce's attention span was still shot to hell) set up their experiment, calculated mouse-appropriate dosages, designated a control group, and took all of the pretreatment readings. Tony administered the first dose and then they settled in to watch.

Nothing happened.

"Well, that's a good sign," Tony observed. "Considering 'nothing' is exactly what we want to happen."

Bruce stood next to him in silence, gazing intently at the treated mice.

They watched the mice for forty-five minutes, until Tony declared, "This is boring as hell, Banner. Let's grab some lunch."

Bruce shook his head. "No, I'm good here."

And Tony hesitated for a minute before he replied, "If you're sure." _Trust goes both ways. I guess._"I'll be back in a few hours, have JARVIS let me know if anything happens." He turned and slipped from the lab, leaving Bruce to monitor the mice.

For almost four hours, he did not move from his spot next to their cages.

* * *

Animal testing lasted for a week, which Bruce knew was trying Tony's patience. Especially after the mice showed absolutely no response to the compound after two days.

But Bruce would not agree to move forward until _he_ was sure that nothing bad was going to happen, and Tony couldn't dismiss his reluctance as _irrational _paranoia (despite his best efforts), so it wasn't until a week later that Bruce finally (slowly, laboriously) did the statistical analysis and declared, "There is no significant difference between the treated and nontreated groups in any of the measurements we took."

"Bullshit," Tony said, peering over his shoulder at the computer monitor. "There's no difference in any of them _at all_."

Bruce shrugged.

In the week since the start of their 'clinical trial,' Tony had managed to manufacture enough of his new compound (which he had maturely named "Fuck You SHIELD" or "FYS" for short) to last for the next six months. With some additional work, Tony (with ample input from Bruce—who seemed to focus better with a clear goal in mind) had managed to get it into a form that could be delivered transdermally through the same bracelet, and they'd calculated the appropriate dosage. Everything was one hundred percent ready to go.

Except for Bruce. But looking at the statistics readouts in front of him, even his rock-solid commitment to not committing wavered.

"I think," he said slowly, "that we can move forward." And part of him was still screaming about long-term effects, about potential toxicity, about a thousand other things that could go wrong, cause an issue, cause an 'incident.' But he knew that nothing would ever quiet those doubts, knew that they could test this stuff for the next ten years and he'd still worry. He had come to accept that, as a whole, his worries were (probably) irrational and, because of that, nothing _could _ever silence them.

Tony looked just a little bit surprised by Bruce's assertion. "You sure?"

"No." Then, more thoughtfully, "I'm never going to be."

And the 'surprise' morphed into 'uncertainty.' "Look, if you don't want to do this—"

One corner of Bruce's mouth turned up in a wry half-smile. "I appreciate your efforts to, um, not force this on me." It was true—Tony had been (by Tony's standards, at least) amazingly understanding of Bruce's reservations. "But if we wait for me to be ready, it's never going to happen."

"Do you _want_ this to happen?" The most important question, the crucial one, really, and one that Bruce (after three weeks of thinking about it...three _agonizing _weeks) finally had an answer to.

"Yes."

Tony nodded, surprised by Bruce's resolute certainty. "Okay. Then hand me that bracelet, yeah?"

Bruce undid the buckle on the bracelet and pulled it off, marveling momentarily at how light his arm felt without it (_psychological response to stimulus, Banner, it's not really lighter_). When he reached out to hand it to Tony, the billionaire noticed the small, pink, dry patch of skin on the inside of Bruce's wrist. "What the fuck's _that_?"

"What?"

"This," Tony answered, grabbing Bruce's arm and pointing at his wrist.

"Oh." Bruce had largely ceased to notice the pain from where the GMSS contacted his skin, but now that it was _gone_ he couldn't help but notice the relief (and _damn, but does that feel better—definitely _not _psychological_). "Um, that stuff's...pretty irritating."

"Yeah, no shit. Does it hurt?"

"It...did. Not so much, anymore. At least, I don't really notice..."

Tony shook his head, popping the GMSS cartridge out of the bracelet. "Christ. You never said anything."

"I...really didn't notice it after the first couple of weeks, Tony."

"Weeks. Weeks?" Tony snapped the FYS cartridge into the bracelet before pushing it roughly across the table towards Bruce. "You know what? I'm just gonna add that to the list of reasons to blow the shit out of SHIELD and then drop the subject, 'kay?"

Bruce nodded, (amazed that Tony would drop _anything, ever_) and slowly fastened the bracelet back around his wrist. When he was finished, he looked at it, waiting. He didn't know for what, exactly, but the moment felt too...climactic for there to be _no _response.

But nothing happened.

He looked up at Tony, who asked, "How's it feel?"

In a word, good. The burning pain at the contact site that he'd come to accept as his constant companion was gone, throwing into sharp contrast how much it had _hurt _before. Bruce flexed his wrist. "It feels...fine."

Tony rolled his eyes. "You and I have very different definitions of 'fine.' Try again."

Bruce rolled _his _eyes. "It's...fine. Really. No pain."

"Any other side effects?"

"It's been less than a minute."

Tony just looked at him expectantly, and Bruce suddenly realized that Tony had a hell of a lot riding on this, too. Had put a hell of a lot into this, was risking his own freedom (_And safety_, Bruce's mind added insidiously). And Bruce knew that Tony was as keenly interested in the results of this experiment as he, the test subject, was. "Thank you," Bruce blurted out suddenly, unable to tell if he or Tony was more surprised. "I...you didn't have to do this. I just... I can't figure out why you're doing all of this for me, why you would take this kind of risk for _me_...it just doesn't seem worth it."

After a couple beats of silence, Tony looked at Bruce and sighed, shaking his head.

Bruce didn't know what he'd said wrong.

* * *

They'd completed the switch at 7:00 PM, and Bruce decided to call it a (really) early night, thinking that it might be better to sleep through the detox process.

While he slept, Tony _had _intended to clean up the lab so he could turn it back over to the chemists he'd displaced almost a month ago. He tried to remember what inane project he'd sent them to work on with the biologists, but he couldn't. That would be an interesting report, at least.

Tony hadn't gotten very far into his cleanup before his phone had gone off at 8:15, alerting him that SHIELD had altered two of the ex-detainee files. He headed to his own lab and settled in to peruse the changes.

Another detainee had been marked 'MISSING,' and one had been marked 'DECEASED.'

Tony read through the altered files. Both of the detainees had been mutants. The one who'd been murdered seemed like he'd been a nice enough guy, just horribly unlucky. His mutation had somehow caused him to (under a _very _specific set of circumstances) deconstruct objects at the molecular level by touching them. An unfortunate accident when it happened to an object...a horrible tragedy when it happened to a human. SHIELD had taken him into custody after they'd figured out what had happened to the man's wife. Tony could tell it was an accident, though, just through skimming their incident report.

The other guy was a teleporter with a very long list of felony accusations (but no convictions), ranging from bank robbery to espionage to murder. SHIELD had, through careful adherence to protocol (meaning drugging him and cramming him into a tiny, lead-lined room), been the only organization capable of holding on to him. But their protocol had been called into question, and the guy had never gotten a trial before his imprisonment, so SHIELD had to release him with all the others.

Tony shook his head, and he was just closing out the files when he got another alert.

_Really_? _Busy day over there, I guess._

Tony opened the newest alert and immediately felt his stomach drop. It was another 'DECEASED.' But it _wasn't _one of the ex-detainees.

It was Dr. Catherine Locklear.

Tony opened her file and quickly read through the notes. She had apparently left work two nights ago at 5:30 PM, and had not come in to work the next morning. Hadn't called in, hadn't given any indication of where she might have gone. And then the janitor had found her bits and pieces artfully arranged around her office at 6:00 PM tonight, with no indication of forced entry into the office and no one on the security footage of the hallway outside.

The connection between that and what Tony had just read a few minutes ago was so obvious that Tony almost choked. He wondered if SHIELD had caught it, or if they were so fucking oblivious that something even this blatant just flew by them.

Well, maybe he was jumping to conclusions. It would be easy enough to check. Tony quickly accessed Locklear's patient records, cross matching it with the missing detainees. Where five of her twelve recently released patients had been missing two weeks ago, now it was up to six.

The sixth, of course, was the teleporter. Locklear had been treating him for 'sociopathy,' which Tony found strangely...ironic.

_Guess that didn't really stick_.

Not surprising, really, given their methods.

Tony leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He could feel a theory brewing just below the surface. It felt like he was missing something, something obvious, almost as obvious as the connection between Locklear's death and the teleporter falling off the grid.

But nothing would come to him, and after several more moments he gave a frustrated sigh. It would come, or it wouldn't, and forcing it wasn't going to help anything. But a few more pairs of eyes might be able to help.

"JARVIS, could you please send anyone available down here?"

"Certainly, sir. Shall I wake Dr. Banner?"

"No, let him sleep. Poor guy needs it."

"Of course. Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanoff are en route, sir."

"Steve and Thor?"

"Currently on a mission, sir."

"Hmm." Tony was sure they'd told him they were going, but he wasn't very good at listening when it came to boring things like schedules. "Where did they go—nah, doesn't matter. When will they be back?"

"They are scheduled to return at 11:30 AM tomorrow. Shall I advise them to expedite their return, sir?"

"Yeah, the sooner I run this by everyone the better. Thanks, JARVIS. You're the best."

"Only because you are, sir."

"Do you really need your AI to stroke your ego, Stark?" Clint asked, striding into the lab. Natasha was right behind him.

"I don't _need _it, Barton, but I can't deny that I _like _it," Tony replied. "But we're not here to talk about my ego. Believe it or not. There's some serious shit going down."

Clint sobered immediately. Natasha asked, "What's going on?"

Tony filled them in on what he'd figured out so far.

"So, murderous mutant," Natasha mused. "Not the first time it's happened. Hell, I'd say that bitch had it coming."

Tony smirked. "Yeah, I'm kinda feeling the same way, and if that's all this was, I'd say fuck it. But I think there's something else going on here."

"Like what?" Clint asked.

"Not sure yet, Legolas," Tony ground out. "It's like it's looking me right in the damn face and I just can't see it. Is this how normal people feel?"

Clint and Natasha shot him matching dirty looks. Before they could give voice to any of the undoubtedly charming thoughts they were having, Tony continued, "I mean, look, we have one dead and one missing. Why? There's way more missing than dead. Why were the ones that were killed...killed?"

Natasha made a small, thoughtful noise. "You said the one who died, he was a criminal?"

"No, other way around. The guy who was killed was pretty clean. As far as I could tell, he killed one person and it was an accident. Why?"

Natasha didn't answer him, instead asking, "Could you pull up all the files for the ones who are missing, and a list of the murder victims they've managed to ID?"

Tony did as he was asked. After half a dozen files, the connection was so obvious that he could have slapped his forehead. "I'm an idiot."

"These are all criminals," Clint observed, indicating the 'missing-but-not-killed' files. "And these," he indicated the murder victims, "Were all more-or-less decent people. Victims of circumstance."

"What are you saying? What's this even mean?" Natasha asked, though it was clear she was making a connection. Clint shrugged, similarly unwilling to theorize without more evidence.

Tony, though, was always willing to see a conspiracy, and _he _had a theory. "All the good guys are dying. The bad guys are missing. SHIELD personnel are being killed. Seems pretty damn obvious to me." Seeing that neither of the assassins agreed, he added, "Come on. Is it so hard to believe that all these criminals would be pissed off enough at SHIELD to band together? Get their revenge? They can't convince the fundamentally decent people to join up, so they're being eliminated so they can't tattle..."

Natasha and Clint looked skeptical still. "Seems like kind of a reach," Clint said. "Just because they're all criminals doesn't mean they're all involved in some anti-government conspiracy...I mean, they'd need a leader. Organization. How would they be able to pull something like this off?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Barton. Haven't you learned _anything _in the last year? If something seems like it's too fucked up to happen, it probably will. Hell, it probably already _has_. And SHIELD was too fucking stupid to realize it."

"He's got a point," Natasha agreed.

Clint shrugged. "Okay, sure. Whatever. But if all that's true, then, what do we do about it? Hardly seems like our problem. Seems like SHIELD made their bed; they can lie in it. Cause and fucking effect."

"Normally, I'd agree with you. But if they're recruiting from the ex-detainees, then they're going to come for Bruce. And Bruce is going to say no."

Tony paused for breath, and added, "And _that _is going to get very ugly for everyone involved. Including us."

"Well, what do you propose, then?" Natasha was always practical.

"Honestly, Romanoff? I don't have a clue."

* * *

Bruce woke up lying in a sunbeam, and that wasn't different.

He opened his eyes, then quickly shut them again against the painfully bright light splashing across his bed. God, it was just _unreal_ how much light there was. _Screw the sun for being so aggravatingly bright..._

With a low groan, Bruce rolled over before slowly pulling himself into a sitting position, immediately and instinctually compensating for the wave of dizziness that accompanied this movement every morning.

But there was _no _wave of dizziness. _No _heavy headedness. _No _faint nausea, _no _sensation of the world spinning slowly around him.

Nothing. Just him, coming into awareness in an overstimulating world full of sharp edges and corners.

Bruce opened his eyes, slowly, cautiously. He looked down at his wrist. The bracelet was still there, wrapped around his arm, but the burning pain of the GMSS contacting his skin was gone.

As was the haze in his mind, the gauzy veil from behind which he'd been viewing the world for the last 10 months. The soft padding around him, cushioning the him from the impact of the world on his senses.

That was all gone. And now he felt...

Raw. Exposed. Like the combined stimulus from his quiet bedroom was going to take his skin clear off. This wasn't withdrawal, he knew; this was just him trying to process the world after a 10-month vacation.

He groaned again, flopping back down, covering his head with his blankets.

"Dr. Banner," JARVIS spoke, and Bruce wondered if Tony's AI had always been this loud, "Mr. Stark would like to have a word with you at your earliest convenience."

Bruce didn't reply, and JARVIS repeated his message.

Still, Bruce ignored the AI, so JARVIS inquired, "Dr. Banner? Mr. Stark—"

The flash of annoyance was bright and hot and entirely unexpected. "Tell Mr. Stark he can fucking _wait_," Bruce growled, surprising even himself with his choice of language.

"Certainly, sir, shall I relay that message verbatim, or shall I paraphrase?"

Bruce responded by putting his pillow over his head.

In the dark and quiet, he calmed abruptly and was left with a sick sense of horror at his behavior. The GMSS wasn't even completely out of his system, he'd been conscious for less than five minutes, and he was already losing it. Feeling annoyed. And annoyance leads to anger, which leads to...

_You weren't __going there__, though_. _You yelled, and then you _stopped._ Like a...normal person.__  
_  
And, well, that was true. He had been annoyed, had yelled something vulgar, and hadn't experienced the faintest bit of feedback from the Other Guy...

_But it's just a matter of time_ _until you do_. Because Bruce knew he was anything but 'normal.'

Bruce heard his door open, and then Tony's voice. "Good God, Banner, I could hear your irrational worrying from 500 feet away. Aren't you going to get up and face this beautiful morning?"

_Maybe if I pretend I've died, he'll go away_.

"I'm not leaving 'til you get up. I need to make sure you're not having weird side effects. Like, a rash. Or hives. Or sudden and irrepressible rage. And then we need to talk. Steve and Thor just got back, so I can fill them in too."

Bruce flung his pillow across the room in the general direction of Tony's voice. He missed entirely. This left him with no other options, so with an irritated huff, Bruce rolled out of bed and stood.

_No dizziness at all_.

He hadn't realized how debilitating it had been until it was gone.

Tony was watching him closely, he knew, and Bruce figured that was probably a good thing. Vigilance never went amiss when Bruce was around. "Look," he said, "No rash. No hives. And no...irrepressible...rage."

Tony cocked his head to one side. "How do you feel? And don't say 'fine,' you know I feel about that word."

Bruce took a deep breath and let it out. Well, he figured he'd better be honest, since the safety of everyone in the Tower, plus Manhattan, plus probably the rest of the state (_the list could go on_, added a distinctly cold female voice), was at stake here. "I feel...annoyed. Irritated. Everything's too bright. Loud. Obnoxious. You. Are obnoxious. But uh, the dizziness is gone. The nausea. I'm starving."

Tony nodded, as if none of this was surprising at all. "Any withdrawal symptoms?"

"You said that wouldn't be a problem."

"And it won't be. But just answer the question."

"No. But it's still too early to tell. Give it another twelve hours." Bruce was able to remember this, to make the leap from one train of thought to another with little effort and in a matter of milliseconds. It felt _good_ to have his brain back, to _think _again, if nothing else.

Bruce's short, curt tone was not lost on Tony. "Geez, you really are touchy, aren't you."

After another deep breath, Bruce said, "Yeah. I am. I think this is too dangerous, Tony, I can't—

"Fuck that." Then, quieter, "Damn."

"What?"

Tony met Bruce's eyes. "I was kinda hoping that the whole delusional self-loathing thing was related to the drug and not um, you know."

"I don't, actually. And I'm not delusional."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Um, yeah. You are. Sorry, Banner."

"Wow."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't going to say anything until I knew if I was listening to you or the drug."

"That's kinda harsh, don't you think?"

"It's kinda true."

Bruce's narrowed his eyes. "Were you this annoying three weeks ago? Last night?"

And suddenly, Tony smiled. No, he _beamed_. "Yeah, I was. But you didn't notice."

"Well, _now _I've noticed."

Tony's smile only grew.

"I fail to see how this is a _good _thing, Tony." Since undue irritation was definitely on his list of things to actively avoid.

"You're annoyed. And that was _so _easy to do. Oh, and you're not big and green. I'd say it's a threefold victory."

"What?"

"Um, you felt something. After a normal amount of stimulus. And you're not smashing anyone. That's all normal. Those are normal things, Bruce. We should celebrate. Do you want ice cream?"

And, well, to hell with it. He did. "I need to shower first."

"Fine. We'll be in the kitchen."

* * *

Bruce joined them in the kitchen half an hour later, where Tony coerced Thor into serving up bowls of ice cream ("Would it not be better to have something more hearty for the first meal of the day, Stark?" "Naw, put those muscles to work, Point Break, this shit's rock solid.")

"Hey, heard yesterday was the big day," Clint greeted the physicist as he made his way into the room. "How do you feel?"

"Shitty and irritable," Tony answered for him, shoving a heaping bowl of Neapolitan towards Bruce. "But he hasn't killed anyone yet, so we're celebrating."

"Tony," Steve chastised him, "That's not...a nice thing to say." Sometimes, the blunt way the billionaire addressed problems still stunned him, even though it probably shouldn't have.

"Eh, he knows I'm kidding, right, Brucie?"

"Call me Brucie one more time and I might forget you're kidding, Tony." Bruce punctuated his sentence with a grimace, the added stimulus of the kitchen grating on his nerves.

Tony waved his hand dismissively. "He's fine. Almost all normal and shit." Clearly, Tony was delighted by this. "What're your plans for today, Brucie? 'Cause I—no, _we—_are going to need blood samples. And any other body fluids you feel like donating."

Bruce froze at Tony's latest 'Brucie' before narrowing his eyes.

"Maybe you should lay off, Stark," Natasha suggested.

Thor agreed, "Dr. Banner is still adjusting, perhaps a more delicate touch would not go amiss."

Tony repeated his dismissive hand wave. "Really, he's fine."

"I know that," Natasha said, "And you know that, but do you think _he _knows that?"

And, looking at Bruce, Tony saw how stiff his posture was, how rigidly he'd set his shoulders. He remembered the 'irrational worry' and the 'delusional self-loathing.' Those issues that removing the GMSS had not alleviated. "Shit. Fuck, I'm sorry. I just got...overzealous, I guess."

Bruce didn't move for several more seconds. Then, he let out a long breath. "Yeah. Whatever. Just...can we _not _provoke me today?"

"Yeah." Then, Tony remembered what he'd called this little meeting about. "Except, um, I need to provoke you one more time."

Bruce sighed heavily. "Why am I not surprised? What's up?"

Tony wasn't quite sure where to start. He wanted to start with the least disturbing news, but couldn't decide if that would be 'you might be approached to join some kind of supervillain crime syndicate that'll try to kill you if you say no' or if it would be 'the woman who oversaw your psychological torture for nine months was killed and then chopped into pieces and used as decorations.'

Well, one kind of led to the other, really. "Dr. Catherine Locklear is dead."

Bruce, who had been tucking into his ice cream, swallowed before looking up and meeting Tony's gaze. "She is? How?" His tone was flat, empty, and it was entirely evident that he was doing his best to _not _react.

Given that, Tony wasn't sure if he should answer. But it seemed like it'd be awkward if he didn't. "Um...massive blood loss. She was...attacked." Tony felt that the whole 'chopped into pieces and scattered around her office' thing might be a bit...unnecessarily graphic.

Bruce took the news pretty well. He didn't jump up and down and cheer (which Tony hadn't _expected_, but would have loved to see), but he didn't become distressed, either. He just took a few deep breaths and asked in that same flat tone, "By whom?"

"SHIELD doesn't know. But I think I do." And Tony explained about the teleportation-capable mutant, which led him to his theory about the missing ex-detainees.

When Tony was finished, Bruce asked, "So, you think they're going to come looking for me?"

Tony nodded. "It seems likely."

"And if I say no...they're going to try to kill me?"

"That seems to be their style, yeah."

"That's not going to go very well for them." Bruce paused, and added, "For anyone. Do you think it would be better if I was on—"

"No. No way," Tony interrupted. "Don't even suggest it. If this shit _actually_ happens, _we_ will all deal with it, and not by drugging you. Are you just _looking _for an excuse to get back on that shit?"

"No, Tony, but I'm not going to let anyone get hurt because I'm a monster."

Disbelieving, Tony said, "Let me get this straight: someone might try to kill you, and that's the only thing you're worried about? Hurting someone else inadvertently?"

The look Bruce gave him clearly said, 'What _else _would I be worried about?'

* * *

Turns out, real life stuff + terrible insomnia leads to a complete loss of productivity and creativity. Writing's been going terribly this week (can you say, 'slow as hell?'), but I finally got up the energy to post. And to write a haiku.

Winter winds have come,  
the writer is left battered;  
Please leave a review.


	8. Still Not Quite There

Warnings: brief mention of self-harm, language.

Thanks to my beta, irite, who never flinches from the phrase "I just wrote 5k words of 'wtf is this shit.'"

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

After Tony's announcement about Locklear's death, Bruce decided that it would probably be better if he took some time to re-acclimate to experiencing life at full volume. Hearing that Locklear had been killed had been like a punch to the chest, and he hadn't been ready for it. He'd barely been able to handle the combined stimulus of smells and sounds in the kitchen without the added stress of deciding if hearing about the death of his 'shrink' was something to be upset about. So Bruce thought he'd better take things slowly.

His first order of business was to immediately go back to bed.

Where he stayed for the next twelve hours.

Not undisturbed, of course. Because when could he ever get any peace around here?

Tony busted into his room around 2:00 PM, after apparently deciding that Bruce had been resting long enough. "You feeling all right?" Tony asked him. "JARVIS says you've been sleeping for like, the last six hours, and if you're experiencing excessive fatigue—"

Bruce wasn't sure that 'sleeping' was the best description of what he'd been doing (it had been more of staring-blankly-at-the-ceiling, truth be told), but instead of pointing this out, he said (while maintaining eye contact with the ceiling, of course), "It's not excessive. Fatigue. It's not excessive fatigue."

Tony registered the odd, halting way that Bruce had spoken. "Okay, then...what's up?"

Probably a legitimate question, but nonetheless irritating. Bruce took a couple deep breaths before sighing and sitting up. "It's just really a lot, okay?" He could hear the whine in his own voice, and tried to rectify it. This situation did not merit whining. "I'm not used to," he waved a hand vaguely, "all of this. It's been almost ten months since I had to..." _Try to handle the rest of the world_. "I thought I'd take it slow, try and limit my exposure to stimuli." That sounded appropriately scientific.

Tony didn't seem to agree. "By 'take it slow,' you mean hide in bed for the rest of your life, or...?"

"Not the rest of my life," Bruce snapped. "And I'm not hiding."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Apparently your nap didn't improve your temper. Or your comebacks."

Bruce was really not in the mood to hear about his temper, or to deal with this banter. "Remember earlier, when we agreed that you _weren't _going to provoke me today? Did that actually happen, or did I make that up?"

Tony frowned. "Sorry, _Dr. Banner_, for making sure you're not suffering any adverse side-effects from the brand new, experimental, mostly untested chemical you have circulating in your bloodstream."

Bruce sighed. He was being an asshole, and that needed to stop. Tony certainly didn't deserve it. "No, I'm sorry. But I'm fine. Really."

At the word 'fine,' Tony's frown deepened. "Yeah. Sure, doc. Hey, let JARVIS know if you need anything. I have some shit I need to do in the lab. Could you head down around 7:00? That is, if it doesn't interfere with your sleep schedule?" Without waiting for Bruce's reply, Tony turned and slipped from the room.

Bruce was more than happy to resume his staring contest with the ceiling.

At 6:00, though, he got up and, after looking in the mirror, decided that showering again would probably not be amiss. So he did that before heading down to the lab.

Tony had cleared out of the chemistry lab and relocated to his own, which is where Bruce found him at 7:00, casually perusing SHIELD's files like he _wasn't _committing a felony. "Anything good in there?"

Tony swiveled around to face him. "Nah, not really. Just trying to figure out who the Supervillain Superclub is going to go after next."

"Ah. Any luck?"

"Maybe." Tony pulled up a spreadsheet. "I thought they were going in chronological order, by date of release, but that's not quite right. See, this one," he pointed at the screen, "and this one don't fit."

Bruce peered over his shoulder. "That's odd." As an afterthought, he added, "If you send me all of their files, I could take a look at them, see if anything jumps out."

Tony's eyebrows shot up. Irritated by his reaction, Bruce asked, "What?"

"Um, just didn't figure it was something you'd want to do, that's all. 'Limiting exposure to stimuli' and shit. Some of this is pretty graphic, and—"

Bruce chuckled, surprising them both. "I think I can handle reading about it, Tony." _Because I lived it...not going to be many surprises there._

Tony rolled his eyes. "Didn't say you couldn't. You're the one on some Zen vacation or something. Yeah, I'll send you the files. But that's not actually why I wanted you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's been twenty-four hours; we need to run some tests."

Bruce nodded, mind running through possible courses of action. "Sure. We should probably start with neurological function, although being on a sedative for long periods can cause cardiovascular issues, so maybe we should start there. And withdrawal doesn't seem like it's going to be an issue—" he stopped.

"What's wrong?" Tony asked.

Chuckling, Bruce shook his head. "I can _think_ again. Everything's so clear, and all of the information is _right there_. It's...amazing. Just being normal is amazing."

And he was so caught up in this revelation that he did not even notice Tony's small grimace at the word 'normal.'

* * *

They ran the necessary tests, which took almost two hours.

"We gonna do this every night?" Bruce asked when they were done, looking at his watch.

"Nah. Maybe once a week from here on out."

Bruce nodded. "Good. Because," he looked at Tony, entirely serious, "this is really cutting into my sleep schedule."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Good lord. Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke? At _my _expense? Dr. Banner, I am impressed."

Bruce shrugged. "Couldn't help it, sorry. Are we finished, though?" It wasn't that he had anywhere to be, in particular, but there was so many things he wanted to do, now that he _could_.

"Um, yeah, I think so." Bruce turned to leave. "Wait, I lied. One more thing."

Bruce turned around and looked at Tony expectantly, barely masking his annoyance.

"I want to check the contact point, make sure the new stuff's not irritating your skin like that other shit was."

"It's not. Feels fine, really."

"Forgive me if I don't really believe you. That whole 'fine' thing, you know how it is. Bracelet off, doc."

Bruce shrugged before unhooking the bracelet. He submitted his arm for Tony's examination.

"Looks good," Tony conceded, after lightly prodding at the affected area. "It's only been a day, but this is already healing. Probably by tomorrow or the day after, you won't be able to tell there was anything wrong at all."

And suddenly, Bruce stiffened, pulling his arm back sharply. "Shit. Tony."

"What? What's wrong? Did I hurt you—"

"They'll know. They're going to figure it out."

"Who? SHIELD? How—?"

Bruce began to pace. "Um. When they first put the bracelet on me, I...complained." Bruce grimaced slightly, "Because of the pain."

The small hesitation (and that brief frown) told Tony that Bruce was leaving something out, and he had a feeling that it had to do something with the euphemistic tenor to the word 'complained.' But Bruce was still talking, and Tony pushed his rising anger aside to listen.

"They logged it, of course, because they logged everything. Later, when the sedative wore off—"

Tony interrupted (despite his intention to only listen), "They sedated you?"

Bruce cocked his head to one side. "I was having a panic attack. It was necessary. For their safety, and mine."

"Why were you having a panic attack, Bruce?"

Bruce stopped his pacing and faced Tony. "The pain, okay? I thought, I don't know, that stuff was burning a hole in my arm or something equally stupid. Look, that's not the point. The point _is_ that when I woke up, they showed me the contact point, how the skin was dry and inflamed. So they knew it was a skin irritant. And if my skin's _not _irritated, then—"

"Then they'll know something's up," Tony finished, the sinking feeling in his stomach momentarily overshadowing his rage at the information Bruce had revealed. "Shit. I wasn't even thinking of that." He opened one of the drawers in his desk and pulled out of the bracelet's original cartridges, rolling it in his hands. "We have a week to figure something out. That's doable."

Bruce nodded at the cartridge in Tony's hand. "Why don't we just—"

"You're kidding, right? You just told me that this shit hurts so bad that it gave you a panic attack, I'm _not _putting you through that, not if there's another option."

"It's not that bad, I just wasn't used to it—"

"So you got used to being in that much pain. Still not going to put you through that if I can help it. Jesus, what's _wrong _with you? Normal people want to _avoid _pain, not take it for a walk in the fucking park!"

Bruce clenched his jaw tightly. "I'm just saying it would be easier. And you've already done so much, I don't want to keep wasting your time, not when you have better things to be doing, more important things. I mean, you're still in the middle of the biggest court case of this century, you're running one of the world's highest-grossing companies, you're Iron Man for God's sake, so I can't figure out _why _you're wasting your time—"

"I'm going to interrupt you right there," Tony informed Bruce, his voice icy, "because if you finish that sentence, I may not be able to stop myself from punching you, and then we'll have all kinds of issues." He took a breath. "My part in the case is mostly over with, my lawyers are handling it. Pepper runs the company. And yeah, I'm Iron Man and that, well, fuck. You think that stops when I take the suit off? You think that just because I'm not wearing it, I can let something like the sick shit SHIELD was doing to you go?"

Bruce nodded, looking reassured, like he was having an epiphany. "So this is an Iron Man thing, then?"

It was the wrong epiphany. "No, moron. I'm not doing this because I'm fucking Iron Man. Or, I am. Shit, I'm fucking this up. I'm doing this because you're my friend, and you were wronged, and I _can_ fix it. And I'd be doing it even if I _wasn't _Iron Man. You're my friend."

Now Bruce just looked confused.

"So just let me do this, okay? It's not a 'waste' of my time. It's something that I want to do. Can you buy that?"

Slowly, Bruce nodded.

* * *

The solution, when Bruce came up with it, was non-ideal.

In fact, Tony hated it.

Bruce knew Tony hated it (and he even understood _why_, to some extent) but by the time Bruce came up with it, they were pressed for time, and all their other options just weren't going to work.

The night before the first scheduled blood test, Tony hadn't been able to come up with anything. He'd been trying for a week, had thought of everything from makeup to tattoos to sending Bruce to live in a non-extradition country, but could not think of something that would mimic the skin irritation of the GMSS without actually harming Bruce. The 'without actually harming Bruce' was the hard part, but Tony refused to budge on the point.

One of them had to worry about the physicist's well-being, after all, and Tony knew it wasn't going to be Bruce.

For a week, Bruce had watched Tony work, had assisted when the billionaire had requested it (and only then—his attempts to help otherwise had been shot down), and had seen how frustrated this fruitless quest was making him. And he appreciated Tony's efforts, but he could not bear to watch Tony waste his time when this particular issue could be addressed very easily.

So at 10:00 PM the night before his appointment, Bruce wandered into Tony's lab, carrying a small clear bottle and a cotton ball. "I think I've figured it out."

His solution was, he knew, something Tony was not going to approve of, because Tony had that ridiculous preoccupation with not hurting Bruce (which Bruce thought was unnecessary—a little pain wasn't going to kill him). But, his solution didn't involve the GMSS, so he thought that Tony might actually consider it.

"Really?" Tony asked, turning around, relieved. "What're you thinking?" Then he saw the bottle in Bruce's hand. "You're fucking kidding me. Absolutely not."

"Hey, hear me out," Bruce started. "It's a really dilute solution. It won't hurt that much, it'll look just like the GMSS, and it'll heal up in a couple of days. Hell, every chemistry student in the history of chemistry has done it accidentally—"

Tony scowled. "Accidentally, yeah. I'm not letting you apply, what?" He peered more closely at the bottle, "hydrochloric acid to your arm, Banner. That's fucked up. Remember?"

Bruce knew he was going to run into this. This was an issue dating back over ten months. Really, it was the start of this whole thing. Bruce's use of self-harm to manage his emotions had landed him in this mess. So he understood where Tony was coming from. But he was a different man than he was ten months ago, and this was something he had to make Tony understand. "Look, it's not _that_. I know that's a...bad idea, now. That's dangerous, and I'm not going to put other people in that kind of danger. This is something else. It's just...practical, Tony. It's the only way." He tried to sound as reassuring, as I-am-a-different-person, as he could.

Tony did not look reassured by Bruce's words or tone, though. "I'm not worried about the danger. I know that's what those creeps told you, but that's _not _why you shouldn't do this."

Bruce still wasn't ready to think about 'those creeps,' not for more than a few seconds, so he ignored Tony's statement and asked, "Do you have a better idea?"

The stormy silence he got as a reply was answer enough. With a small shrug, Bruce tugged the bracelet off, located the contact point (after a week, all but healed, but still easy enough to find) and, hardly pausing to think, poured a small amount of the acid on the cotton ball, and pressed it to his wrist.

He lifted it after a second, tossed the cotton in the garbage, capped the bottle, and crossed the room to the sink. He ran his wrist under the water for a moment before turning the faucet off. "There. Not a big deal." The skin was, once again, dry and red and irritated, just like it had been before he'd made the switch. It hurt, yes, but he was determined to _not _think about it.

Tony was glaring at him with narrowed eyes. "Well," the billionaire said, and his tone was tight, "At least I have a whole month to think of something that doesn't involve maiming you."

"You really don't have to, this is fine—"

"Are you motherfucking deaf? Or just plain stupid? Or really, really good at ignoring me? This is not _fine_. Jesus Christ, I'm going to ban that word from this building. I know you don't think it's a big deal, but believe me, I'll be a whole hell of a lot happier if you could just fucking understand that _being in pain is bad_."

This was a discussion they'd had before, and it seemed strange to Bruce, like he was warping backwards in time, re-visiting something that had been long since laid to rest. Again, he tried to tell Tony that he was different. "I don't like pain, you know, it's just...not a big deal. It doesn't bother me—it's fine."

With a final scowl in lieu of words, Tony turned and stalked from the room. As he was leaving, he spat over his shoulder, "We need to be at SHIELD at 8:00. Get some fucking sleep."

Left alone and wondering what the hell had just happened, Bruce picked the bracelet up from where he'd set it and fastened it back around his wrist. He headed back upstairs, where he found Clint and Natasha watching a James Bond marathon in the living area. He settled down into one of the armchairs to watch with them, needing the distraction from his thoughts and the slight burn he could still feel from his arm.

During a commercial, Clint turned to him. "Nervous about tomorrow? I fucking am." He and Natasha, being the most familiar with SHIELD, had been recruited into Bruce's entourage for the trip to SHIELD.

Bruce shrugged. "Not really. Finally solved the 'issue' we've been having, so tomorrow should go...okay."

In the last week, he'd had the opportunity to test his own blood, hair, and urine, and knew for a fact that, unless SHIELD had some kind of technology that even Tony Stark did not possess (which was unlikely), they were not going to be able to detect the GMSS replacement. The only real issue had been the skin irritation, and with that solved, the lingering anxiety that tomorrow's appointment had caused in him was set to rest.

And God, it was nice, having a worry that data and evidence could actually soothe.

"Yeah? What'd you come up with?" Natasha asked. Tony had mentioned that he'd been trying to find a way to mimic the skin irritation of the GMSS ("Without causing Bruce so much pain he has a fucking panic attack," he'd growled) but hadn't been having much success.

"Hydrochloric acid," Bruce replied. He slipped the bracelet off and showed them the burn. "Very low concentration, of course."

Clint gave a low whistle. "Damn. I mean, it's effective, but Tony seemed pretty adamant about—"

"It was my idea, actually," Bruce interrupted.

Natasha and Clint shared a long look, but said nothing. After a moment, the movie resumed.

They watched in silence until Bruce went to bed.

Bruce woke up at 4:00 AM, which was a little early, even by his standards. The nervousness that had not touched him the previous night had returned with a vengeance, apparently, and after tossing and turning for half an hour, Bruce conceded that he was not going to be getting any more sleep that night.

He showered, dressed, and then decided to take a look at the files from SHIELD that Tony had sent him earlier in the week. Instead of heading down to his lab, though, he grabbed his laptop and settled down in the kitchen. For once, it was empty, dark and silent, and so Bruce made his tea and toast in blissful quietude.

The week since the switch off of the GMSS had been hell on his nerves, hell on his sense of control. Sure, he'd held it together, but his grasp on everything felt tenuous most of the time, like he was always one step away from snapping. And everyone said that he _wasn't_, that he had a handle on it, but how could he take them seriously when they didn't know what it felt like?

Luckily, he'd spent most of his time in the lab, 'helping' Tony, and he hadn't had to engage the whole group at once since the first morning. He mostly took them in small doses, small groups, but even that was sometimes more than he thought he could handle, so he'd retreat to his lab or, more commonly, his bed. And Bruce knew he'd never acclimate if he kept hiding, but hiding seemed safe, and acclimating seemed dangerous, so it just made sense. He had to protect people, be always on his guard, because if he wasn't...

_Is that logical, Banner_?

Funny how every time he asked himself that question, it sounded more and more like Tony was asking it.

And the answer? _Probably not_. Because that was _always_ the answer, apparently, at least according to, well, everyone. No one else seemed concerned, worried, no one questioned his capacity for control. And they seemed to think his concerns were inconsequential. That seemed like an insanely dangerous stance to take. But he didn't know if it seemed that way because _they_ were misinformed of the danger or if _he _was misinformed of the risk.

Bruce sighed heavily, opening his laptop. He thought _they _were all misinformed, misjudging the danger. But if he listened to them, he was delusional—something they all seemed to agree on (though only Tony used the word. With alarming frequency.). And so, through the convoluted logic that Bruce had come to accept, it was probable that _he _was misinformed, was over exaggerating the risk.

It was amazing, how he could _know _something and still not believe it.

For the next hour and a half, he perused the files. They were, as Tony had warned, fairly graphic. Disturbing. Most of SHIELD's detainees had been criminals, but that didn't excuse the 'treatments' that they had undergone in the medical facility, or the dismal conditions in which the non-medical detainees had been held.

By the time the others had appeared in the kitchen around him, Bruce's tea was cold and his toast was untouched.

"Are you feeling okay?" Steve asked, gesturing at Bruce's unfinished breakfast. "You should really eat something this morning to keep your strength up."

Bruce looked up, surprised to see that the kitchen had filled. It had been a long time since he'd been able to focus on anything so intensely that he could lose track of his surroundings. "I'm fine. Just...reading these put me off my appetite, I guess."

"You know how I feel about the 'f' word," Tony chastised, breezing into the room. He mock-glared at Bruce, his anger/annoyance/whatever of the previous night apparently forgotten. "So, I was thinking it over last night, and I think we should all go to SHIELD today, instead of just the four we'd planned on. We might end up needing the extra muscle."

Clint, who'd been staring blearily into his cup of coffee, looked up and raised an eyebrow. "You expecting something to go wrong?"

"Um, yeah. Always. Aren't you?"

Clint shrugged and went back to his coffee. Abject pessimism, as it turned out, was one of the qualifications necessary for being part of the team.

Tony turned to Steve and Thor. "You guys down with that?"

"Do you not think it will seem aggressive?" Thor asked. "Making such a show?"

"Probably. Because it is aggressive," Tony answered. "I think we need to make a point. We're going to stand behind Bruce, so they can fucking deal with that."

Steve considered. "If you think you can refrain from provoking anyone, it should be okay." He looked sheepish as he added, "Don't really want to start a war today, or something, if we can help it."

Tony leveled Steve with his best 'innocent' look. "Me, provoke people? Sir, you offend me." He looked at Bruce. "Does this work for you? Don't want to um, crowd you or something." Because, he knew, Bruce still thought that too much sensory input could lead to disaster.

Part of Bruce _was _worried about the crowding. Another part of him was worried about seeming too aggressive to SHIELD. But mostly? He couldn't help but feel...something. That they'd all band behind him like this, even when he knew he didn't deserve it. It was...nice. "It should be okay," he answered, instead of giving voice to any of that. "I think I can handle it."

It did not escape his notice that he was the only one who seemed concerned about that.

Tony clapped his hands together. "Great! We should get going, so um, suit up. But not like, all the way up." He looked at Clint and Thor, who were still in their pajamas. "Real pants would be a plus. No weapons, though."

"At all?"

"Yes, Romanoff, at all." Natasha grumbled, but headed back towards her room, throwing a look over her shoulder at Tony. Bruce wasn't sure what she intended for it to say, but it was certainly nothing nice. The others scattered as well, leaving Tony and Bruce alone in the kitchen.

Tony plopped down in the chair next to Bruce. "How're the files coming? Notice any patterns?"

Bruce wasn't entirely sure where they stood after their showdown the previous night, so he answered cautiously, "None yet. Although it seems like Locklear's patients are being targeted disproportionately..."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too. Thought I might check her out later, see what sort of shit she was into. You down for that?"

Bruce shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

"You can say 'no.' No one would blame you if you never wanted to think about the bitch again. Fuck, no one would blame you if you wanted to go dance on her grave or something. Do you want to do that? Because I could figure out where she's buried pretty easily..."

"Um. No. But thanks for the offer?"

"No problem. Look—"

Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off by the reappearance of the others. Tony looked annoyed at the interruption, but stood. "Okay, kids, are we all ready to go?"

Natasha glared at him. "Kids, Stark? That's rich, coming from you. And I'm driving." She adjusted her jacket, better covering the gun concealed at her hip.

Tony looked like he was going to say something—either about the weapon or about Natasha's intention to drive, but wisely chose not to. Instead, he said, "Suits me. Let's ride."

The trip to SHIELD was quiet. The plan was simple—in and out. Bruce would provide samples and they'd be on their way.

Nothing's ever that easy, though.

Tony's lawyers were waiting for them outside the facility, to make sure everything went according to plan. They had a quick, quiet discussion before leading the group into the building.

For his part, Bruce seemed nervous—and who could blame him, really? This place certainly held no good memories for him, and it held a hell of a lot of bad ones. But even though he was tense, he struggled to stay relaxed. The GMSS was supposed to keep him calm, after all, and all of Tony's hard work would be for naught if Bruce couldn't keep enough of a handle on himself to at least act the part of 'stoned ex-detainee.'

When the nurse took his arm to lead him back to the exam room, Bruce couldn't help but send a quick, panicked look over his shoulder. Tony spoke up immediately. "Hold on." To Bruce, he asked, "Do you want one of us to come with you?"

And Bruce knew he was a grown-ass man, hadn't had anyone come with him to the doctor since he was a kid. This, he knew, was something he _should _be able to handle on his own. So when he said, "Yeah. I do," he was almost as surprised as Tony.

"Seriously?"

"No. I mean, well, if it's not a problem—"

Recovering quickly, Tony assured him, "It's not." Because he wasn't about to throw his friend to the wolves. "Have a preference?"

The nurse huffed impatiently. "We have a pretty tight schedule to keep here, sir, if you could—"

"Um, no. This man," Tony patted Bruce's arm reassuringly, "Was held in this facility for nine months against his will. And tortured. Which is fucked up. So you can damn well wait for him. Bruce?"

Bruce considered, pointedly ignoring Tony's use of the phrases 'against his will' and 'tortured'. After some thought, he answered, "You. Please."

"Sure, no problem, doc." To the nurse, he said, "Okay, lead the way."

She led them into an exam room, where the lab techs were waiting. The blood draw was uneventful, and they took Bruce's hair before sending him into the adjacent bathroom with a small plastic cup. He came back a few moments later. "Is that all?"

"Not quite," said one of the lab techs. "We need to check the bracelet to make sure it's working correctly. Could you remove it, please?"

Bruce obliged, making a point to fumble clumsily with the clasp. His motor skills were supposed to be off, after all. As he handed the bracelet over, the burn on the inside of his wrist was clearly visible. One of the lab techs wrote something in his notes. The other one finished examining the bracelet before handing it over. "Okay, you can put that back on. The doctor will be here in a moment for the physical—"

"Physical?" Bruce asked, just as Tony said, "Wait, what?"

"The physical? The examination?" the lab tech said. "We need to make sure that continued exposure to the drug is not having a detrimental effect on the patient's health."

Bruce and Tony shared a look. They both knew that a physical would immediately reveal that Bruce was no longer on the GMSS. The changes in his pulse and blood pressure alone would give it away. "That wasn't in the court documents," Tony growled.

"No? It should have been. Standard procedure." Like there was any standard procedure that existed for this situation. "It'll just take a minute—"

Bruce's whole world had narrowed suddenly to a very fine point, and he could feel his heartbeat picking up in his chest. His breaths were becoming more shallow, and he was on the edge of panic. No, not the edge. He was there.

_Like that won't blow this whole facade to shreds_. _Yeah, panic, 'Hulk out,' and rip this place apart. Real subtle. At least you're already where you belong, maybe they can tranq you before you get too far..._

"—does not consent to an exam," Tony was saying. "So it's not happening. Talk to my lawyers if you want, but this shit? Not happening today." He turned to leave, before he noticed Bruce, frozen in place. "Bruce?"

Bruce did not answer, so Tony tugged his arm. "Banner. Move it."

That got him moving, and Bruce allowed Tony to drag him back out to the waiting room.

Tony glared at his lawyers. "We need to talk." To the Avengers, he said, "Take Bruce home, make sure he's...okay."

Bruce wasn't, but he let the others herd him back to the car, his panic rendering him pliant.

Wedged into the backseat between Clint and Steve, it was not until they were almost back to the Tower that Bruce calmed down enough to come to a realization.

_I panicked. I panicked, and nothing bad happened. Nothing happened at all._

* * *

Thanks to everyone who's reading, following, and favoriting. _  
_

Now, this is the part where I look sad and beg for reviews. I know you can't see me, but know that I _do _look sad.

Please review?


	9. Trouble

Warnings: language, brief violence.

Endless cookies to my beta, irite, who went through three drafts of this...

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

When Bruce next saw Tony after leaving the billionaire with his lawyers, it was several hours later, and Tony had a deep scowl on his face.

That was unfortunate.

After the 'incident' at SHIELD, Bruce had retreated to his lab to go over the profiles from the missing and dead detainees. Partly, he'd needed to get away, needed to recoup after what by all rights should have been a disaster. What should have been a disaster, and wasn't. And that was the other thing he needed to do. He needed to think, to reason this out, to find some logical way to fit what had happened into the framework that defined who and what he was.

_Clearly, you just got lucky. It was pure chance that nothing happened—_

That sounded hollow, though. Because what _had _happened at SHIELD? Almost blowing his cover? Almost getting sent back into custody? Almost getting Tony sent to jail? That was pretty much the worst case scenario. And if that hadn't set the Other Guy off...

Then Bruce, even without the GMSS, had more control than he thought.

Than he'd been led to believe.

SHIELD had been lying to him.

Which was worrying, because if they'd been lying about that, then what else had they been lying about? How much of what they told him about his condition had been fabricated? How many of the 'lessons' they'd tried to teach him had been unnecessary?

The knot growing in his stomach felt suspiciously like anger, though, and anger was somewhere that he was not yet willing to go. Because he _didn't_ know what was lies and what was truth. Couldn't know, and so he couldn't risk it. So he pushed it aside, pushed it into that corner of his mind where he put _all _the things he was not yet willing to think about, and he went to work.

He passed all afternoon working in the lab, reading through profiles, and after all of his research, he had come to a conclusion that he knew Tony wasn't going to like.

So Tony's bad mood was unfortunate. Because delivering bad news wasn't Bruce's strong suit (he hated confrontation—and who could blame him, really?); delivering bad news to someone who was already pissed off?

Yeah, he wasn't looking forward to it.

When Tony walked up to Bruce and clapped a hand on his shoulder, Bruce tried not to wince, and was successful enough that Tony didn't mention it. Instead, he said, "Well, I think I've got that bit of fuckery sorted out. The mistake was on SHIELD's end, not ours—there's nothing about a physical examination in your release agreement, so if they want to do it, they're going to have to draft a new set of paperwork. And I think they've got enough on their plate at the moment, with the trials and all, that they're not going to get around to that any time soon."

Bruce nodded, then decided he should just get this over with. This was as good of an opening as he could hope for, after all. "I think we need to tell SHIELD what we think's going on. With the 'supervillain superclub.'"

Tony, who'd begun wandering around Bruce's lab, poking around in an overly-intrusive way that betrayed his own agitation, stopped abruptly, turning to gape at Bruce. "What? Why?"

"Well..." Bruce hesitated, then shrugged. "A bunch of angry ex-cons getting together? That's bad, Tony. They've already killed one person—"

"She had it coming."

That gave Bruce pause. Sure, Locklear had been—

_Don't think about her_.

But she didn't deserve to _die_. And it wasn't really their place to mete out that kind of judgment, anyway. So he ignored Tony, and continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "And we don't know what else they're planning to do. I've read most of those profiles, Tony, these people are dangerous. Most of them are murderers. We can't just let them wander the streets—"

"We're not going to let them 'wander the streets,' Banner. Of course we're going to find them." Tony heaved a sigh, and for the first time in the month that Bruce had been back at the Tower, the billionaire actually looked exhausted, like all the caffeine and adrenaline just weren't cutting it anymore. "It's just...we don't have all the information we need, and we don't have the resources to find it, and none of us are investigators...I mean, fuck, we just _smash _the things we're pointed at, that's all. This isn't our kind of gig."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at Tony's choice of verb. Gently (because clearly Tony was more wound up about this whole thing than Bruce had thought), he said, "And that's why we should tell them, Tony. They have people who're trained in this kind of thing. If they knew what they were dealing with, if they knew that this was an organization and not just some random psycho... then they might be able to find these people before anyone else gets hurt."

After a long pause, Tony said, "I don't trust them." He looked up from the doodad he was fiddling with, before setting it on the desk and meeting Bruce's eyes. "And I don't know how _you _can."

Bruce leaned back against his desk, sighing. At this point, he didn't. He didn't trust them _at all_. They'd lied to him, they'd made him _believe_ their lies. They'd left him so damn torn up that he _knew _they'd lied to him—and he still believed what they'd said. So no, he didn't trust them.

Bruce expressed this to Tony, whose jaw practically hit the floor when he heard about Bruce's epiphany. But before he could interrupt, Bruce finished, "But they're being threatened, and it's not right to just..." he trailed off with a helpless shrug. He couldn't articulate what felt wrong about it, just that it _did_.

"Huh," Tony mused. He shook his head slowly. "Dr. Banner, you never cease to amaze me."

Confused, Bruce asked, "What?"

"Most people would say 'to hell with them' after what they did to you. But no, you're just too fucking decent for that." Bruce wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. Tony barreled on, "Yeah, we'll tell them. No—I'll tell them, I don't even want you on a conference call with those bastards. No, maybe I'll get the lawyers to do it...but I need to check something, first..." Tony wandered out of Bruce's lab, still muttering to himself. As an afterthought, he called back, "Oh! I was supposed to tell you dinner's ready...damn, I hope Steve's not pissed..."

Bruce sighed and shrugged, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. A few minutes later, as he headed towards the elevator, the words 'too fucking decent' echoed in his mind.

_Yeah_, he decided with a small smile, _that was a compliment_.

Then he thought, _Can monsters be 'fucking decent?'_

Bruce didn't think so. And if it had to be one or the other, then...

He was going to just trust Tony's judgment on this one.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Tony meandered into the kitchen and began poking around through the scant leftovers. "Jesus, you people can fucking eat," he addressed the room at large. "I'm going to starve, and it's all your fault."

"Maybe if you were on time, you wouldn't have this problem," Steve chided, from where he was tucking into his (third) heaping plate.

Thor, who was also on thirds, backed him up. "We thought you too busy to join us for the evening meal, and so we commenced without you."

"I _was _busy. Doing important Avenger-y things."

Everyone perked up at that. "Yeah, like what?" Clint inquired.

Tony pulled out an empty chair and sat, taking a huge bite of mashed potatoes. While chewing, he said, "Bruce and I were talking earlier—"

"Stark, chew with your mouth shut. Were you born in a barn?"

Tony rolled his eyes, but finished chewing and swallowed before saying, "Sorry, Romanoff, didn't mean to offend your delicate sensibilities. _Anyway_, Bruce and I were talking earlier, and we think that we should tell SHIELD what we've figured out."

This declaration was met with several beats of stunned silence, before Clint snorted. "You're joking, right?"

"No joke, Legolas. Bruce thinks it'd be wrong not to warn them. And he's right. We're the good guys, after all."

Okay, so maybe Bruce hadn't put it _exactly_ like that, but he was sure Bruce wouldn't mind if he took some liberties with his words. Judging from the irritated glare Bruce was sending his way, though, Tony might have miscalculated. The physicist didn't interrupt, though, and when it became evident that he didn't intend to, Tony continued, "So, I went to see if SHIELD's got any clue what's going on—'cause I don't want to deal with them if we don't have to—and it looks like they really _are _in the dark."

"How many times have you hacked SHIELD this month?" Steve asked, sounding both reproachful and genuinely curious.

With a grin, Tony answered, "'S best you don't know, Cap." He took a bite of chicken and his eyes widened. "This is amazing." Natasha glared at him, and he swallowed hastily before continuing, "So, they haven't figured out what's up yet. But we can't just call them up and tell them."

"Why not?" Thor asked. "Would a direct approach not be for the best?"

"Well," Tony mused, "I guess I could just send them an e-mail or something, except they're just a _little _sensitive about the whole being hacked thing, and I don't really want to tell them exactly how much we know, or how we got the intel."

Natasha nodded. "I can see where that'd be a problem." She paused. "Was Locklear's death in the news?"

"I don't think so," Tony said, shaking his head. "Maybe an obituary. Why?"

"I thought we could say we saw it on the news, that it raised some concerns. I mean, she was Bruce's shrink, it'd be worth looking into, right?"

"There _was _an obituary," Bruce muttered from his place in the corner. Everyone turned to look at him, and he took a self-conscious sip of water from a nearby glass. "I looked it up."

Tony shot Bruce a piercing look. "When was that?"

"I don't know, maybe the day after you told me...I was just curious, okay? Don't read too much into it."

Tony ignored that edict entirely, and proceeded to read entirely too much into it. "Why didn't you ask me—"

Bruce glared at him. "I can do a Google search without you holding my hand, Tony."

"Yeah, but why would you—you know what, never mind." Bruce was a big boy, he could internet-creep to his heart's content. "What did the obit say?"

Bruce shrugged. "The usual stuff, I guess?"

Tony was tempted to ask if Locklear's obituary mentioned the part where she'd been dismembered and strewn artfully around her office. However, he refrained. Nodding, he said, "Okay, so, we tell them we think they should look into Locklear's death? Except...they're probably already looking into it. I mean, it was kinda...violent." If SHIELD _wasn't _investigating Locklear's death, then they were just completely incompetent.

Possible, but not likely.

"Oh, fuck it," Clint declared, "Subtle isn't really our strong suit. Well, it's not yours, anyway. If we're going to tell them anything, then we should tell them everything."

Thor agreed, "Secrets and lies are not our way."

Annoyed, Tony retorted, "Yeah, but neither of you are facing criminal charges—"

Steve cut in, "Since when has that ever stopped you—"

Natasha interrupted, "Do you really think we should antagonize SHIELD on top of everything—"

"You know," Bruce said, speaking loudly to be heard over the others, "Maybe Clint's right." The others fell silent, but Bruce continued at the same volume, "I mean—" realizing he was yelling, he stopped and blushed. Quieter, he started again, "I mean, don't you think Fury would expect that you'd do something like that? Hack them, I mean? You'd do just about anything for information. No offense."

Reluctantly, Tony admitted, "Probably. But if he can't prove it, I don't really want to come out and admit it. It was one thing when we were on the same side, but we're 'enemies' now," Tony made air quotes around 'enemies,' "so that shit isn't gonna fly. They already pressed charges once. If he doesn't know—"

"Or," Natasha interrupted, sounding as if she was having a revelation, "he _does _know you've been doing it. He knew you'd want Bruce's file, he knew that would lead you to the missing detainees...and he's expecting us to do something about it. And that's why SHIELD hasn't done anything yet; they're pawning it off on us."

"That doesn't make sense," Steve pointed out. "Why would Fury do that?"

"I don't know, Rogers," Natasha snapped. "Maybe...maybe if _we _take care of it...maybe he's trying to bring us back into the fold. Forced cooperation, something like that."

Silence reigned for several seconds. "You don't really think..." Bruce started.

Everyone cast nervous glances at each other. "I think...it's possible," Clint said, after several more seconds of silence. "Fury's a manipulative bastard."

"We can't know for sure, though," Bruce pointed out quickly. "We can't know that he, um, knows."

Tony could hear the strain in his voice. It was understandable—if they really were playing into some elaborate plan of Fury's, what else did SHIELD know? Did they know that Bruce was off the GMSS? If they did, then what were they planning on doing with that information?

"We should go to SHIELD," Tony declared. "Bruce is right. We can't know if this is Fury's plan, or if SHIELD's completely in the dark. We have to figure out what the fuck is going on."

"Yeah, sure," Clint agreed, easy going as always. "But, um, when the hell did this turn into a group field trip?"

Tony grinned, and it was just a little feral. "Like you said, subtle isn't our strong suit, Barton. And we're a hell of a lot more intimidating in person."

* * *

Since dropping in on government agencies after dinner was generally unworkable, the group decided as a whole that they'd hold off until the morning, at the very least. Maybe longer—Tony wanted to make absolutely certain that SHIELD wasn't going to act on this on their own, since he didn't want to have anything to do with them unless he had to.

"Are you sure we can't just tell them to go fuck themselves? Metaphorically, I mean. Well, literally, too, but metaphorically in this case?"

But Bruce stood firm in doing the 'right' thing, and Steve backed him up (to no one's surprise) and even though none of them really liked the idea of possibly being Fury's pawns, they all eventually unanimously agreed that telling SHIELD was probably the best course of action.

When they'd all finished eating, and the dishwasher was running, Tony turned to Bruce. "Wanna go take a look at Locklear's history?"

"Um, sure. I guess?" He'd kind of been hoping for dessert, honestly, not to delve back into his hard drive. But he supposed that the cake would wait.

"Hey," Clint said. "If you're checking up on that bitch, I want to get a look at her info, too. I mean, I'd kind of like to know what kind of psychos has SHIELD been hiring all these years."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, and gestured between herself and Clint. "I think we already know that, Barton." He snorted, and she smirked before adding, "But I'd like to see her files, too. I mean," she looked at Bruce, "if you don't mind."

Bruce couldn't really imagine _why _he might mind, and he said as much. "I mean, you've kind of already seen the...worst ones." And, to his surprise, he actually choked a little bit thinking about it—sure, he knew what his file said (he'd lived it, after all) but now that he knew SHIELD had been lying to him (though he was still feeling out the edges of the lies, trying to find their boundaries) it felt different. Like he didn't actually know _what _he'd experienced, like it had changed while he wasn't looking.

He made a note to read his own file later.

"Okay, anybody else want to come?" Tony asked, half-sarcastic, half-genuinely curious.

Thor and Steve looked at each other and shrugged. "I guess it could be useful," Steve decided, although he looked like he'd had about enough of Locklear and SHIELD for a lifetime.

"Then I guess we can set up shop in the living room," Tony said. "Dibs on the couch."

Everyone rolled their eyes, but dutifully followed Tony into the next room.

Within a few minutes, Tony had everything set up. Together, the group perused Locklear's files from SHIELD's Human Resources Department.

"Ph.D. from UCLA," Tony mused. "That's impressive."

"What was her dissertation on?" Bruce asked absently, looking down at the tablet computer in his lap. He didn't think UCLA offered a program in 'intense psychological torture' (_Is that what happened_?), so he was curious what she'd actually been trained in.

Tony poked around for a few minutes, until he found the relevant page. "Just says 'Clinical Psychology.' That's fucking vague. And weird. Weirdly fucking vague."

"There's no paper title? Nothing else?"

"Look for yourself, big guy."

Bruce had been avoiding looking at it, truthfully, because even though he'd volunteered for this, that didn't mean he'd _actually _wanted to do it. And now that he was here, he was finding out exactly how much he wanted to avoid it—the slow throb at his temples and the tension in his shoulders stood testament to it.

But he wanted to get this over with so he could go back to _not _thinking about it. So with a sigh, Bruce put his glasses on and peered more closely at the display in front of him. Tony was right. There was no information beyond 'Ph.D.: 2003; Clinical Psychology.' He shrugged, turning back to his tablet. "We could call UCLA, see if we can find her advisor."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "I like how you think. But calling? That's _so _2013."

"It _is _2013," Steve pointed out.

"Exactly my point!" Tony declared. "Okay, her education history is sketchy as hell, so we can look into that. Work history's next."

Except, as almost ten minutes of digging revealed, Locklear had none.

Clint cast a look at Natasha, before he said, "So, um, even _our _employment records with SHIELD aren't this empty. Weren't this empty. Whatever."

Natasha nodded. "This is just really weird. Who _was _this woman?"

"A fucking psycho," Tony muttered. "And apparently a ghost. Okay, this looks like it's going to be a bust. I'll see if I can find anything about her education, but we're not going to find anything in her SHIELD records. Sorry, guys, show's over."

Bruce couldn't say he was disappointed—this wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. _Not_ thinking about Locklear (one of his biggest life goals) was _really_ hard while he was staring at her damn records. Still, as everyone else got up and moved to their different corners of the Tower, he offered Tony, "I can help you try to find her education stuff, if you want." Because, as much as he _didn't _want to think about her, about any of it, he just wanted to get this behind him as fast as possible, wanted to solve this mystery so he could move on with his life.

Tony gave him an appraising look. "Sure. But that's a task for a different day. I need to get ready for the assault on SHIELD tomorrow."

"...Assault?"

"'Visit,' 'assault,' what's the difference?"

Bruce sighed. "That's not really the right attitude."

Tony waved him off with a laugh. "I'm not actually going to assault anyone. Gimme some credit. You gonna come with us tomorrow?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Seems risky."

"Whatever, Banner." Tony rolled his eyes. "You need anything, let me know. But I need to go do some...stuff. To get ready."

"You're going to work on the suit, aren't you?"

Tony grinned. "Well, subtle _really_ isn't our thing."

* * *

In the end, Bruce opted to stay home while the others went to pay SHIELD a visit.

This was probably one of the worst decisions he'd ever made in his life.

It didn't seem that way at the time. It seemed reasonable. After all, he was trying to convince SHIELD he was still drugged out of his mind. Wandering through the premises didn't really seem like the best way to do that. Besides, if Fury really _was _trying to get the Avengers back on his side, well, Bruce didn't want to have anything to do with that. Anyway, as far as SHIELD was concerned, Bruce had been effectively 'neutered,' and wasn't really much of a 'superhero' anymore—if Fury wanted the Avengers, well, he didn't want Bruce. Definitely didn't want Hulk.

That suited Bruce fine.

So, he figured he could stay at the Tower, maybe get some work done on one of his ongoing projects, super-chatty babysitter notwithstanding. Bruce had tried to turn down Tony's offer to have someone stay with him, but Tony had declared that "too stupid for words, Banner," so Clint had volunteered to stick around—exuberantly, as his morning caffeine consumption rivaled Tony's. Despite that, Bruce was nevertheless prepared to just have a nice, leisurely morning while he waited for the rest of the team to get back with information.

Of course, it didn't work out that way.

The security system at Stark Tower was top notch, of course. Better than anything available on the market. Tony had been making improvements to it since Bruce had come home, designed to keep SHIELD surveillance and lackeys from ever gaining access to the building or its occupants. The whole thing was tight. And the Avengers floor was completely impenetrable from the outside, except for those who knew the access codes.

And, well...for those who didn't _need _the access codes.

It wasn't something Tony had overlooked—Tony Stark did not 'overlook' things. It was just...no technology existed to prevent teleportation. That had been part of the impetus behind mutant registration a couple of years ago, and in the time since, the technology just hadn't been developed. So Tony was aware that there was a hole in his system, but there was literally nothing he could do about it, except program the rest of the security system to lock down in the event of an intruder.

And, of course, assign the more vulnerable members of the household their own personal assassin slash bodyguard.

At 9:45 AM, less than an hour after the others had departed, Bruce was sitting at the table in the kitchen, drinking a glass of orange juice and eating the cake he'd been denied the previous evening. It wasn't the healthiest breakfast choice he'd ever made, but he'd woken up 'on the wrong side of the bed' (Tony's words) and had been feeling testy and irritable all morning. There was no rational explanation for this (_Yeah there is, Banner, you're worried that SHIELD knows about the GMSS and they're going to—__**don't think about it**_) and so, working under the hypothesis that cake might help, he'd dug in. He was on his second piece when JARVIS said in his usual calm, cool manner, "Intruder detected. Security lockdown protocol initiated."

Bruce froze. _What the hell?_

From the living room, he heard Clint's clearly enunciated, "Oh, fuck."

Not sure he'd heard the message correctly (Clint's reaction notwithstanding), Bruce said, "What was that, JARVIS?"

As the AI repeated his message, Clint came bursting into the kitchen, gun in hand. "Okay, Banner, move. There's protocol to follow here."

Bruce wished (kind of desperately) that someone had shared the protocol with him at some point before _now_. Looking around quickly, Bruce saw no one else in the area, though. "Are you sure there's actually a problem?" Because there was no shrieking alarm, no flashing lights, nothing to indicate that an alarm had actually been tripped. Clint didn't answer, though, just hustled him towards the elevator, muttering something about how "fucking scientists are too damn skeptical of everything."

JARVIS spoke, "Dr. Banner, I assure you—"

Bruce hadn't really believed that anything was amiss until JARVIS was cut off mid-sentence. He'd thought maybe there was a glitch in the system, or a rogue pigeon had somehow flown inside or something, setting off the alarm. But JARVIS wouldn't just _break_. No, something was wrong. Very wrong.

He let Clint take the lead, following a few step behind the archer as he turned them towards the stairs instead of the elevator. But before they got to the door, Bruce heard a weird 'whoosh' noise and something (_someone?_) flashed into existence in front of him.

Faster than Bruce would have thought possible, Clint whipped around and took aim. But whoever it was (and Bruce kind of thought he _knew _who it was, at this point) popped away and reappeared behind Clint before whacking him over the head with what looked a truly unfortunate amount like a gun.

Clint's eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped forward. Their visitor vanished again, and Bruce caught Clint under the arms, lowering him to the ground before looking frantically around.

He was alone.

Bruce snapped into business mode. He crouched down next to Clint to check his pulse. It wasn't as strong as Bruce would have liked it to be, and the archer was definitely bleeding from his head wound—a lot. With the force that their uninvited guest had put into the blow, it seemed like he'd been aiming to render Clint something more permanent than 'unconscious.' But if that was the case, then...why hadn't he just killed Clint outright?

Bruce shook his head, clearing it, and he reached for his phone. He didn't know how long he had (there was really only one reason a teleporter might visit Stark Tower right now, and it probably _wasn't_ just to knock out the resident sniper), but getting _any _information to the others was crucial.

Except he'd left his phone plugged in and charging next to his bed, a lapse that now seemed stupidly short sighted. Sharply aware of his increasing heart rate, Bruce slipped back down the hall to his room, looking around cautiously. _Where did that guy go_?

He made it all the way to his room and had his hand on his phone when he heard the tell-tale 'whoosh' sound, and a voice came from behind him, "Why don't you just leave that alone for now?" The sentence was punctuated with the sound of a gun being cocked.

Bruce felt his chest tighten.

* * *

"Okay, guys, play it cool," Tony advised everyone, standing outside SHIELD's headquarters.

"Play it cool?" Natasha asked, skeptical. "You're the one who's carrying a weaponized suit of armor in a briefcase." She gestured at Thor, "And he's got a giant hammer." She didn't mention the various guns and knives strapped to her body nor the Widow's Bite charging under her loose cuffed shirt.

Tony shrugged. "It's always good to be prepared, Romanoff. Boy Scout rule number one."

"You were never a Boy Scout," Steve pointed out, before taking charge of the situation. "Okay, everyone, we're here for information, not to start a fight. Keep that in mind, would you?"

"And if a fight is started despite our efforts?" Thor asked, placing a hand on Mjölnir.

"Well, I think that'd be a lot less likely if you'd get your hand off your hammer," Steve said.

Tony, predictably, was unable to contain his laughter at the unintended innuendo. Natasha and Steve glared at him pointedly, and he managed to get control of his mirth. Barely.

"What are we waiting for, exactly?" Thor asked, after a few more minutes had passed and no one had made a move to go inside.

"Lawyers," Tony answered simply. "We don't move 'til they get here. I told them to tell SHIELD we were coming; they set the whole thing up. If I contacted SHIELD directly, that could be grounds for a lawsuit, or something. Apparently, what it boils down to is, I 'antagonize' SHIELD and my lawyers don't want to deal with the repercussions if I come here without them."

As he finished talking, a nondescript black car pulled up next to them, and Tony's lawyers got out. "You ready to do this?" Lucas asked, approaching the group.

"'Cause you can still back out," Samuels suggested, sounding hopeful.

But Tony wasn't about to make their lives easy. "Fucking right we're ready. I want to find out if Fury's been playing puppet master."

The lawyers sighed in unison. "Maybe be a little less confrontational about it?" Lucas suggested.

Tony didn't answer, opting instead to march towards the doors. Steve hurried after him, taking the lead.

To Natasha, Thor muttered, "I am beginning to think this may not be the most...well-planned endeavor."

Natasha snorted. "You just _now _started to think that?"

Thor shrugged, and the two of them followed Tony and Steve.

* * *

Thanks for reading/following/favoriting and reviewing.

My life's recently gotten very stupid, so I'm not sure when the next update will be. Classes end December 14th, so probably at some point after that.

Every review I get makes my life 1.9% less stupid, and the results seem to be cumulative. So please review.


	10. It's A Big Decision

Warnings: language, angst, bad decisions.

Thanks to irite for being the best beta ever. And for Thor-ing this chapter for me.

Holy crap, we hit 100 reviews. I like that. I like all of you.

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

"Why don't you just leave that alone for now?" suggested the man who had just teleported into Bruce's room, almost genially.

Bruce froze with his hand on his cell phone, sharply aware of the band of anxiety tightening around his chest. Slowly, he pulled his hand away from the phone and started to turn around to face his visitor, taking a deep breath.

"You don't need to turn around, either. Maybe un-turn, actually?"

With a sharp exhale, Bruce stopped and turned back so he was facing the wall, resisting the urge to knit his fingers together in front of him, knowing that would not go over well with his visitor.

"Good. So, here's what I'm thinking." Bruce could hear the man start to move around in the room behind him, heard him pull out the chair by the desk and settle down. "You've been out for what, a month now? That's plenty of time to think about how pissed off you are at SHIELD, right?"

Bruce didn't answer, too busy trying to get a handle on his racing heartbeat—there were too many variables here, too much uncertainty, and if he didn't get himself under control, people were going to get hurt. Maybe a lot of people.

Briefly, he cursed his own idiocy, his own recklessness. _Should have known something like this would happen, should have stayed on the drugs, should've—_

But was that really the issue? Should he have _anticipated _someone showing up in his extensively-secured bedroom to abduct or attempt to kill him? Even by the standards of his fucked up life, that was a little far-fetched. And really, all the GMSS in the damn world wasn't going to help if this guy decided to shoot him, so...was it really logical to blame himself for this?

"Or maybe you're not angry at all. If that's the case, I don't know how the hell you're not."

His feelings about the nine months he'd spent with SHIELD were something that Bruce had not yet quite gotten around to working through. In that he'd been actively avoiding thinking about what had happened pretty much since the moment he'd woken up in restraints his first day there. Thinking about it right now, under these circumstances? Literally at gunpoint? Was certainly not how he'd planned on doing it. So he deflected, "Why are you here?"

"I think you know that. You've been looking into us. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say this isn't really a surprise to you."

Bruce sighed. Even with his back turned, he knew he was probably a terrible liar. He decided to skip the inevitable part where he would be called out on his lie and just admitted, "You're right. I know why you're here."

"Then what's it gonna be? Gonna come with me? We can give you the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to get back at those sick fucks for what they did to you. Or are you just too damn nice for that? Too pathetic, ready to keep laying at their fucking feet like a trained animal? 'Cause if that's the case...this world would probably be better off without you. And I can make that happen."

Bruce's thoughts were racing. This was happening too fast, and it was about to get bad. Maybe if he could stall...surely Tony had some way of knowing that there had been a security breach, if they lingered here long enough, then maybe the others could put an end to this.

But then Bruce remembered the way JARVIS had cut off in the middle of a sentence, and that small hope deflated. JARVIS was, at least for the moment, out of commission, so Tony and company probably wouldn't be making a conveniently timed appearance. Clint—who was supposed to be protecting him—was currently bleeding and unconscious in the foyer. Bruce was on his own, and if someone was going to put an end to this, it was going to have to be him.

"You can't kill me," Bruce pointed out, mind whipping through possible scenarios and outcomes. "Not with a gun, anyway." _And not in any other way you can imagine, either_, _unless you're a lot more creative than I am._

"Really? That shit SHIELD has you on—"

"Do you _really _think I'm still on that?" Bruce said this with more relish than he had intended, hoping to throw the intruder off guard.

"Bullshit, I have your records from yesterday. You tested positive."

"How'd you get those?" That didn't bode well, that his supposedly secure medical records were floating around—although it _was _good to hear that the new compound had fooled SHIELD. In a way, though, it was a good thing that this guy thought he had Bruce's number. Bruce wasn't ready to lay his cards on the table just yet, and maybe it could be advantageous somehow if they thought he was drugged. He needed to play this carefully.

Apparently, the mutant had a similar plan, though, about playing his cards close to his chest. "Like I'm going to tell you that," he snorted. "Okay, even if I can't kill you, I can still shoot you. That won't be fun, right? For anyone within a couple mile radius."

His tone made his meaning clear immediately. "No," Bruce conceded, clenching one hand uselessly at his side. "It won't." And the possibility of hurting someone, of letting the Other Guy loose in the middle of Manhattan, was enough to seriously constrain his options. If that happened...if there was an 'incident'...SHIELD would come for him, they'd realize the deception with the GMSS, Tony would go to prison, and God only knew what would happen to the others. It would be a disaster, and he'd bring everyone down with him.

No, that was unacceptable. Which meant there was only one thing he _could _do.

"Okay, then. So," Bruce heard the mutant shift, and he repeated, "What's it gonna be?"

And even though he knew what he was going to say, Bruce couldn't help his shoulders from slumping a little as he made his words a reality. "Let's go."

"_What_? Seriously?"

The incredulity didn't help matters—this wasn't something that Bruce especially _wanted_ to do. But it was the only way. This way, he'd be a 'villain,' he'd probably be roped into doing whatever the hell it was these crazies were planning but...that would all be on _him_. None of the others would be held culpable, none of this would link back to them. That was something he could deal with, something he could allow. The alternative...letting someone else take the fall for him...not so much. "Yeah. _Seriously_."

"Well, color me surprised." And before Bruce could draw another breath, he heard the mutant stand, and a strong grip locked like a vice around his wrist.

_Teleportation_, Bruce decided, a moment later, bent over and vomiting spectacularly on the floor of wherever he'd just been zapped, _is definitely _not _my favorite way to travel_.

* * *

"I should have you arrested," Fury growled as Tony finished his explanation of what had brought them there.

The lawyers, standing in one corner of the room, looked ready to step in, but Tony just smirked, taking note of the way the other Avengers drew in around him protectively. "Maybe. But is that any way to repay the man who's making sure your organization doesn't leave itself vulnerable to attack?"

"We don't know for sure that's what's going on here, Stark," Fury said. "We just have your word. And that's not much to go on. We haven't seen any evidence that—"

"I'm sorry, sir," Steve interrupted, and Tony had to raise an eyebrow at his confrontational tone, "But we find that a little hard to believe."

Fury leveled Steve with a calculating look. "Is that so."

The supersoldier didn't back down. "Yes, sir. You honestly expect us to believe that you have _no _leads on what happened to Locklear? No idea what's been going on with ex-prisoners your own records show you've misplaced?"

"You had no business viewing those records," Fury started, something in Steve's tone apparently rubbing him the wrong way.

Thor took another step forward at that, his hand moving to his belt, looking like he'd love to be holding Mjölnir, but refraining for the sake of diplomacy.

Before he could speak, Natasha pointed out, "I think that's a moot point, now. We _have _seen them, and we're trying to help you—"

Fury shook his head. "Look, let's not pretend this is anything but what it is. You hacked a federal agency for your own benefit—"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Tony cut in, unable to take the waffling another minute. "Like you didn't expect me to do that." In their corner, the lawyers did near-identical facepalms. Undaunted, though, Tony continued, "You can't have security protocols _that_ bad and _not _expect me to look around. Honestly. So drop the innocent 'I'm the victim' thing you've got going on and tell us why the fuck you're not acting on this. 'Cause we've got some theories, and none of them are pretty."

Fury leveled him with a glare. "I'd tell you where you could stick your theories, but you brought the paper pushers. You have _no _fucking idea what you're dealing with."

"Oh, and you do?" Tony's incredulity was evident. "Because it looks like you've got exactly shit to work with."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Fury pointed out reluctantly, his voice low.

Thor's hand finally lifted from the front of his belt, arms moving to cross over his chest instead.

Natasha looked up at Fury with a piercing glare. "So you do know something?"

Casting an annoyed look between the people standing in front of his desk, Fury nodded once, brusquely. "Yeah. I do. And you...people just can't keep your noses out of other people's business, can you?"

"...Well? Gonna share, or you gonna keep us guessing?" Tony prompted after several beats of silence. Finally, they were getting somewhere, even if this was apparently going to be like pulling teeth.

"Sorry, Stark, I'm just trying not to get anyone killed. My apologies if that's an inconvenience for you." Fury paused. "We've known for awhile that...something was happening. Locklear...that was the last clue."

"Her death, you mean." Steve wanted to make sure everyone was still on the same page. Because, honestly, he kind of wasn't. This was so far above anything he'd ever been trained for—there were no visible enemies to kill and he was directly defying a man whom he'd previously seen as a commanding officer. He wanted to at least try and work this carefully.

Fury snorted. "Death, yeah. That's a nice way to put what they did to her."

"She had it coming," Tony snarled, Fury's apparent defense of _that _woman sending a spike of rage straight through his chest.

With a placating gesture (which did nothing to placate Tony; he wouldn't give Fury the satisfaction of being so easily manipulated), Fury said, "Fine. Whatever. We're not going to see eye to eye on this. But when she was...killed, that's when we knew we were dealing with something more than random disappearances. So we started doing some investigating. And we figured some shit out."

"What'd you find?" Natasha asked, just as Tony said, "So why didn't you update your files?"

Fury decided to answer Tony first. "We wanted them to think we were clueless. That we didn't know what they were up to, or we didn't care. We wanted to keep them complacent. Calm. We wanted them to think they had all the time in the world to actuate their plans."

"Which are?" Natasha prompted, slightly irritated.

"Haven't got that far, Romanoff. But we've got some locations, we've set up some surveillance. We'll get something, soon."

Still attempting to be diplomatic though he didn't think Fury deserved it, Thor asked, "And is that all you can do after all of these people have been killed, set up surveillance? That hardly seems like enough."

Fury bristled, "It's all we can do, Thor. This isn't your fucking problem."

Tony raised his hand. "Actually, I would disagree; we're involved. Really involved. It _is _our fucking problem." Though he didn't say as much, he was thinking of Bruce, who was almost certainly on the recruit-or-kill list. What were they supposed to do, trust Fury's surveillance to keep the physicist safe? That wasn't going to happen.

Fury heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I noticed. Look. They've been watching us. I'm sure they've been watching you since you started poking around in our shit. And now you're here. Which is a giant red fucking flag to them that now we know what they're doing. So thanks a lot for letting them know."

"Hey, don't blame us. If you had just told us—"

"Why the fuck would I tell you _anything_, Stark? After the shit you pulled with Banner? Christ, this whole fucking fiasco is your fault. Or his. You couldn't just let it go, couldn't understand the pressure to protect the world from a monster—"

"Have care how you speak," Thor warned, any effort at diplomacy gone now as he shifted his stance to be more aggressive. "As I recall, this did not begin with Dr. Banner."

"Blondie's right," Tony backed him up, angry, completely ignoring his lawyers' admonitions to shut the hell up. "Bruce didn't want anything to do with this superhero shit, you pulled him in anyway, Loki played him, and then instead of owning up to your own damn mistake you let him take the fall instead. Which he did without a single fucking complaint. So fuck you. If you're going to blame this on someone, blame _me _because I wouldn't let him do the self-sacrifice thing forever. But you should really blame yourself." Tony felt Steve place a warning hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. "If you can't see how you're just reaping what you sowed, then you might need to get your eye checked." He stood, gesturing to the others. "We're done here. Let's go."

"Wait," Steve grabbed Tony's wrist to stop him from his dramatic exit. "We're not done. Director," he leveled Fury with a steady look, "we intend to do everything in our power to protect Dr. Banner. If we work together," he held up his other hand to quiet Tony's snort of derision, "Maybe we can do that better, and help you fix this in the process. Are you willing to try that?"

Tony could see the cogs in Fury's head turning, and he didn't like it one bit. But the director wasn't stupid enough to turn down this kind of offer. "Fine. But if I get even a _hint _of insubordination, or get the idea that you're working behind my back, we're done. This is temporary, and you _will _follow my orders, is that clear?"

"No," Steve said. "That's _not _how this is going to work. We'll help you find these guys, help you stop whatever they're trying to do, but we're going to do it _our _way." Behind him, the others nodded, in rare total agreement about something.

"Whatever," Fury growled. "But if you end up getting yourselves killed or worse, it's not my damn fault. That's on your heads. These people are dangerous, or didn't you notice?"

Tony tugged his arm out of Steve's grasp. "Great! Glad that's settled! Now, how about you send me a copy of everything you've got so far, and Bruce and I will start going through it?"

Fury looked pained, but managed a terse. "Fine."

"Then we'll be in contact." Tony pretended not to notice Fury's efforts to break his hand during their parting handshake, squeezing back as firmly as he could, and the others followed him out the door.

They were most of the way back down to the car, Lucas and Samuels congratulating Tony on avoiding provoking Fury into killing him or having him arrested, when Tony got a text message.

Waving the lawyers off, he pulled his phone out and read the missive.

It wasn't good news. "Shit."

"What has happened?" Thor asked, stopping beside where Tony had frozen in the hall.

"Something tripped the security system at the Tower."

Natasha whipped out her cell phone, presumably calling Clint.

Steve sidled up next to Tony, trying to read the screen. "What was it?"

"Don't know. JARVIS didn't send any of the follow up information he was supposed to. Christ, what a time to find a bug in the code..." Tony started texting furiously.

"Barton's not answering his phone," Natasha informed them grimly. She dialed another number. "And neither's Banner."

Steve and Tony locked eyes. "We'd better move," Steve said.

And no one said a single word about Tony's driving on the way back to the Tower.

* * *

Bruce's new 'friends' weren't overly inclined to treat him gently, which Bruce found troubling on a couple of different fronts. First, if he was on their side (which clearly he _was_, since he'd agreed to come along for this), then why did they feel obliged to force him to his knees immediately after he'd finished puking, shove a rag in his mouth, put a bag over his head, tie his hands, and drag him at gunpoint through their compound? That didn't seem especially...friendly.

And second, well, no one who knew what Bruce _was _ever treated him with anything but the utmost in caution. Most people avoided touching him altogether, but not these guys. No, Bruce was pretty sure that the hand fastened around his upper arm was going to leave a bruise, and the person dragging him kept wrenching his shoulder practically out of the socket, and when he stumbled and fell, he was assisted on the way down with a boot to his lower back.

It took him awhile to figure it out, and when he did he felt sick to his stomach. _They think I'm drugged_. _They think I _can't _transform. They think they're safe. _

Their faith in SHIELD's compound seemed to be absolute, but Bruce's faith in himself was not nearly so strong. And until he knew where he was, and who, exactly, he was dealing with, he _had _to keep himself under control.

So as he was dragged along, he focused in on the pain in his arm and shoulder (and after they kicked him, his back), letting it ground him, giving him something to focus on. He breathed slowly, deeply, and tried not to think too hard about what was going to happen once they got to wherever it was they were going.

He was so intently _not _thinking that when they stopped moving, he stumbled again. This time, though, the hand on his arm kept him upright, yanking him back into place.

After several seconds of just standing, footsteps approached and a voice said, "I do hope you will excuse our rudeness thus far, but a few of our allies have, well, been less than eager to perform the duties they seemed so willing to take on when their other option was death. Some tried to escape. And some we just do not trust. It is non-ideal, but this way, if you choose to back out of our agreement, there is much less risk to us, you see."

Bruce knew that voice. At least...he thought he did. _It can't be_. _No way._

"And," the voice continued, "I'm sure you understand our reluctance to believe that the honorable Dr. Banner would so willingly turn to the dark side, as it were, even after being treated so _hospitably _by SHIELD. Furthermore, we know you've been looking into us, and given that, it seems extraordinarily odd that you've come at all. So, please, forgive us our rudeness, but I fear we are going to have to take one more unpleasant step. Has he been searched for recording devices? Tracking devices?"

"No, sir," said the goon at Bruce's elbow.

"Do it," the voice ordered.

Bruce didn't have any time to prepare before he felt rough hands patting him down, and he tensed against the unwelcome intrusion. The search was as awkward and unfortunate as these things tend to be. More than once, he had to bite down on his tongue or lip to stop himself from flinching, forcing himself to remain as pliant as he knew the drug had rendered him, trying to maintain the farce as long as he could.

It wasn't easy, but at the very least the unpleasant business was conducted in silence, and when it was over and Bruce was more or less put back together, the voice said, "Very well. This _is _a surprise, but I cannot deny my excitement that you've come. We shall have such fun together, you and I."

And his hands were untied, someone pulled the bag off of his head, and Bruce pulled the makeshift gag out of his mouth with no resistance from his captors. He stood, swallowing repeatedly, blinking under the harsh lights until his eyes stopped watering. Then, massaging the point above his elbow where a hand had been gripping him like a vice for the better part of half an hour, Bruce looked around, eyes tracing the faces of the people surrounding him (and carefully _not _noticing the guns pointed at him) until they landed on the owner of the voice that had been speaking, of the person who seemed to be in charge here.

Damn. Bruce had really_, really _been hoping that he'd been mistaken when he'd thought he knew that voice.

But no, he wasn't that lucky. The universe apparently hated him.

"Welcome, Dr. Banner," Loki greeted him warmly, with relish. "How well it does me to see you again."

Bruce sighed. He didn't know if he should be surprised (he wasn't, not really, because somehow this fit) or annoyed (which he definitely was) or angry (and yeah, he was starting to get pretty pissed off), so all he said was, "Loki."

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

Bruce snorted—he couldn't help it. 'Friend' was definitely _not _the word he'd use to describe the relationship he had with Thor's brother. 'Arch-enemy' maybe, or something even more antipathetic would be more apt. "I'm sorry, but after the last time I saw you, I woke up tied to a hospital bed drugged out of my mind." It was a pretty honest assessment of the situation, Bruce thought, and delivered far more calmly than he felt.

Something flickered across Loki's face—anger, maybe, or something else—but it was gone so quickly that Bruce couldn't process it. Loki's eyes flitted to Bruce's wrist, where he knew, now, that the SHIELD device was resting. "Yes, well. I _am _sorry about how that turned out. Truly."

The stiff set to the demigod's jaw spoke of sincerity, like discussing what SHIELD had done left a foul taste in his mouth. Before Bruce could wonder at that, though, Loki added, "But, I do believe I will be able to make it up to you, if you would be so kind as to indulge me."

With a raised eyebrow, Bruce stated flatly, "Oh, really." He was being cautious—Loki was insane, after all—but his feelings towards the demigod could not be entirely constrained.

"Yes, really," Loki mocked. "I believe you will find my plans quite satisfying—I must say, they were actually inspired in large part by your plight. And, of course, by my regret for the part I played in it." Loki's eyes glittered, clearly delighted with himself. "But I can save all of that for later, once you've had some time to settle in. Now, though, I've gotten you a gift. Would you like to see it?"

"Um," Bruce started. He cleared his throat. "I guess?" Dealing with Loki, on Loki's turf, was something that he was going to have to handle delicately. The trickster had proven that he had no qualms at all about manipulating Bruce, manipulating the Other Guy, about hurting a lot of people. Bruce knew he should just go along with whatever the demigod had planned. "What is it?"

"Bring Dr. Banner his gift," Loki commanded, his voice steely and dripping disdain.

Two men slipped out a door off to one side. They came back a minute later, dragging another person between them.

It was Locklear.

_Still gonna go along with whatever Loki has planned, Banner_? _Or do you have a better idea_?

'_Cause you better start thinking of one, if you don't._

* * *

The Tower was still in lockdown when they arrived, and Tony had to use his manual override codes to get them into the building, despite Thor's offer to get them in faster. When they were in the elevator, Tony called, "JARVIS, what's the situation?"

There was no answer.

"JARVIS?"

Still nothing.

"Oh, hell no. If they broke JARVIS, I am gonna be _pissed_—"

"Is that really your biggest concern right now?" Steve sniped at him, watching the floors count up impatiently. He'd been tempted to offer to help Thor, worried as he was about Bruce and Clint, his team.

"No," Tony sulked. He pressed the button for the Avengers' floor five times in quick succession with increasing force.

"That's not going to help," Natasha pointed out, feeling like they'd had this exact conversation before. "Gonna suit up? We don't know what's waiting for us up there."

"Shit. Yeah, you're right." He dropped the briefcase and kicked it open. The suit finished assembling just as the elevator doors opened, but Tony left the faceplate up, wanting to see what had happened with his own eyes.

The first thing they saw was Clint, lying unconscious in the middle of the floor, in a small but nonetheless alarming pool of blood.

Natasha rushed to his side, feeling his neck for a pulse. "He's alive. Check the rest of the floor, I'm going to call an ambulance."

Steve led Tony and Thor into the main part of the floor. They swept through the kitchen, the living area, and each bedroom. The entire floor was empty and silent.

Back in Bruce's room after their search, Tony walked over the bedside table and picked up Bruce's abandoned cell phone clumsily. "His phone's here. Damn it." At Thor's questioning look, Tony elucidated, "I could track him, if he had it with him. But now we've got nothing." He slammed a fist into the table, punching straight through. "Shit!"

He looked up at Steve and Thor, who were standing with their arms crossed, watching him cautiously. Irritated,, Tony pushed past them, casting a quick look down the hall where paramedics were swarming the foyer before storming into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of conveniently placed whiskey out of a cabinet. He took a long drink, slumped against the counter, before setting the bottle aside and going to get out of the suit.

Half an hour later, he re-entered the kitchen to find Thor and Steve sitting at the table. "Natasha went with the paramedics," Steve explained. "Clint has a concussion and...well, they think he'll be okay, but there was a lot of swelling..."

Tony picked up his whiskey bottle, ignoring both Steve's words and his disapproving look. "Okay. We need to look at the security footage, and I need to get JARVIS back online." He took a drink. "Doing the security footage will be a hell of a lot easier with JARVIS, so I'm going to get started on that." He sighed and rubbed his forehead, suddenly aware of the throbbing headache that had sprung up there.

"What do you think happened to Dr. Banner?" Thor asked, giving voice to the concern that was at the front of each of their minds.

"No idea," Tony answered shortly. "But the Tower's still standing, so I know what _didn't_ happen to him. Wherever he went, he went willingly." _More or less_, _anyway_. Tony had suspicions of what had happened (because he knew Bruce's idiotic penchant for self-sacrifice made him _way too easy _to manipulate), but couldn't say anything definite until after he'd seen the security footage.

Steve sighed, and when he spoke it was with clear reluctance. "Do you think we should tell Fury about this? Seems like something he might want to know."

"I don't give a shit what Fury might want to know," Tony snarled, surprising even himself with his vehemence. He covered it quickly. "We're not telling him anything until we know what the fuck happened to Bruce. That asshole's just _aching_ for a reason to go after him and this? This doesn't really look good. And Fury's too fucking stupid to stop and _think_ for five seconds, so this is _plenty _for him to act on." He slammed the bottle on the counter and stalked out of the kitchen and towards his lab. If they were going to get a handle on this, he had to get to work.

Steve and Thor cast uneasy looks after him. "He's right, though," Steve said solemnly in the wake of Tony's departure. "It doesn't look good at all."

* * *

Well, that was fun. I thought so, at least.

You know what else is fun? Reviewing.


	11. Is This Any Better?

**Warnings: references to torture, some language, some violence.**

**My beta, irite, is the best thing since sliced bread.  
**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

As Locklear was led—no, dragged, really—into the room, Bruce felt himself swallow repeatedly, his throat suddenly bone dry.

This was a familiar scene, yes, but the last time it had happened, their roles had been reversed. Bruce had been the one supported between two goons, had been the one at the mercy of circumstance. Now, he was the one in control though. Supposedly.

He didn't _feel _like he was in control, and neither the familiarity of the situation nor the reversal of roles did anything to relieve Bruce's anxiety. Nor did it slow down his increasing heart rate.

Because he could feel Loki's grin burning into the back of his head, could feel the rising tension in the crowd surrounding him. Yeah, if he thought he was in control here, he was kidding himself—he'd be lucky if he got out of this without causing massive casualties. Or maybe he'd be lucky if he got out of this at all. The last time Bruce had seen Loki, the demigod had been in possession of a magical doodad that basically gave him limitless power over the laws of the universe—if it tickled Loki's fancy, chances were pretty good that the demigod could wipe Bruce off the planet without breaking a sweat. Possibly without even moving.

_It's great to have _that _worry back on the table._

"Now Dr. Banner, don't be rude. It is customary to express gratitude when one has been presented with a gift, I believe."

Bruce didn't even have to look at Loki to know he was smirking. Still, to buy time, he turned around slowly. "I...don't know what to say." Which was entirely true. What would be appropriate? Or helpful? Or wouldn't get him killed? Or her killed, because he wasn't sure if he _wanted _that, if he could take it on his conscience?

Loki raised an eyebrow, unaware of Bruce's inner conflict. "I had heard you might be a little...slow, Banner, but I thought _that woman _was exaggerating the effects of whatever it is they have pumping through your body. Apparently not." His disgust for Locklear was evident, practically dripping from his words.

_Guess Loki's not really a big fan of her's, either. Never thought we'd agree about something_.

Out loud, Bruce said, "I don't think...she...is prone to exaggeration." The hesitation in his voice was completely natural; he was processing as fast as he could, trying to think a way he could work this situation so that no one got hurt. So that he didn't...have an incident. Added to the fact that just _seeing _Locklear again was a huge stressor—let alone in this situation—Bruce thought he was doing good by talking at all.

It was just fortuitous that his difficulty in speaking could be taken as a side effect of the medication he was supposedly on. It helped with the illusion. Fully aware that Loki was watching his every move like a hawk, Bruce let his fingers drift over the bracelet on his wrist before he turned slowly back towards Locklear. If he hesitated too long, it would start to look suspicious.

He was supposed to be eager for revenge, after all.

Locklear was more conscious than she had been a moment ago, though not by much, and she was glaring at him with a _hatred _in her eyes that almost took Bruce aback.

_Why would _she _hate _me? _One of us was tortured_ _by the other, and I'm pretty sure it was me._

It was just a fleeting thought, so it was completely unexpected when Bruce's stomach muscles clenched tightly and he had to fight a sudden urge to vomit. For the second time in a short amount of time.

But that one fleeting thought was all it took. Because, looking at the woman who had signed off on what _was_ torture, who had more often than not led the proceedings, he was _remembering_. And there was no drug softening the sharp edges, nothing between him and the harsh reality of what had been done to him. Looking at her, her hateful expression, he was thrust face-first into the memories he had been avoiding for the last month, the things he had resolutely refused to think about.

Bruce remembered hours slumped in a chair, listening to the endless list of everyone he'd ever hurt, of everything he'd ever destroyed. He remembered being forced to describe in detail how an 'incident' went down (would go down?) in a crowded street, unable to tell through the drugged haze if what he was describing had actually happened, or if it was just some horrifying hypothetical his tormentors had constructed. He remembered electric shocks and hypodermic needles, remembered feeling like his nerves were on fire. He remembered wishing that he'd just die, but knowing he _couldn't_, not like this, no matter how hard they tried, or how much he wanted it.

And he remembered rage. He remembered being _furious_ that this was happening to him, even as he knew this was what he deserved. They told him it was what he deserved. And he'd thought they were trying to protect the rest of the world from the monster, so he'd gone along with it. But if that was the case, then why the _hell_ had they been provoking him? He'd pushed that aside, though, had shoved it as far down inside of himself that he could, had let the drug wash over him, soothe him, take away everything. He'd just let himself float away in it.

But now that was gone. And he was remembering. And he was angry.

He remembered the rage, and he saw _green_.

It would be so _easy _to just let go, to let it happen. He could get out of here, no problem. And if he took out every single person in this complex in the process, well, no great loss. They were all criminals. No one would miss him. Hell, he'd probably get a goddamn medal for it. Absolutely no one would blame him for losing it, not with everything that was going on here.

And yet...if he couldn't hold it in, he'd never know what Loki was up to, would never get to the bottom of the trickster's master plan. Not to mention, he'd reveal that he was off the GMSS. While he might get a medal for taking out these criminal scumbags, SHIELD would be less than impressed that he and Tony had reneged on the deal they'd struck. No doubt, Bruce would find himself back in custody and Tony would be in jail.

That quickly, the rage dissipated. Bruce's knees gave out.

All of this passed in the blink of an eye; one moment, Bruce was standing, facing his tormentor, and the next he had fallen to his knees, teeth practically cracking from how tightly he was clenching his jaw. He forced himself to exhale, to think of the consequences, to think of how important it was to hold himself back. One fist was clenched so tightly that his fingernails were digging into his palm, and he focused on the pain, letting that anchor him.

The next moment, Loki was at his side, waving back the goons who had stepped forward at Bruce's collapse. Bruce forced himself to relax, forced the tension out of his shoulders. He wasn't supposed to be able to feel this much, was supposed to be drugged out of his mind. If he hadn't already blown it (_and you probably did, Banner_) then his rigid stance would give the deception away in a heartbeat.

"Oh my, Banner. That was a little dramatic, don't you think? Very damsel-in-distress, I think, to just fall over like that."

Bruce forced his eyes up. Loki was towering over him, looking down at him with his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Without thinking, Bruce blurted out, "I just...seeing her...after what she did..."

It was honest, at least. Far more honest than he'd ever intended to be with the trickster.

But then, lying to Loki was an exercise in futility. Because he was _the _Liesmith. Maybe honesty was the best policy.

Apparently, Bruce's sincerity came through. The suspicion bled from Loki's face and was replaced with something else. Sympathy, maybe? Or...pity. "Hmm. We _did _have a little chat about the time you two spent together. I can see why you might be...distressed." Loki grimaced.

_Oh my god. He feels _sorry _for me._

Bruce had exactly half a second to reflect on exactly how fucked up his life was that _Loki _was feeling sorry for him before the demigod murmured, "Well. I daresay we can put all of this to rights soon enough, yes? After all, she is yours to do whatever you will with. Do whatever you must to put your mind at rest." He turned to Locklear and his demeanor changed entirely from the almost gentility he had shown Bruce. His face twisted with black rage and he spat at her, "Perhaps it will impart a valuable lesson, woman...although I do not think you will live long enough for it to be of much benefit." He turned back to Bruce. "And I must confess, it will put my heart to rest as well if you will put this...creature in its place. I would consider it...a token of your commitment to the cause." He punctuated his sentence with an easy grin.

Bruce's stomach rolled with nausea for the third time in five minutes. What Loki wanted was obvious. He expected that Bruce would torture Locklear, in some capacity. And if Bruce didn't...well, whatever insane sympathy-camaraderie thing they had going on right now probably wasn't going to last. Loki was mercurial (_that's an understatement, Banner_), would turn on Bruce in a second if he thought Bruce was going to get in the way of his plan...even if his plan (whatever batshit crazy stuff it entailed) had supposedly been inspired by Bruce.

_What _is _his plan? _Bruce only had a vague idea, and it wasn't good. He remembered what Loki had said—Bruce's 'plight' had inspired Loki...as had his regret at the part he'd played in what had happened.

_Is this whole thing an apology_?

It seemed insane, but then...Loki was insane. Right? Could he really be doing this whole thing for Bruce? And what _was '_this whole thing?' Bruce knew he didn't have enough information, not yet. He needed more, and he was only going to get it if he could keep playing along, if he could convince Loki that he was really into this.

But torture? Could he really do that? Even to Locklear...who'd had _no _compunction about doing the same thing to him. It just didn't seem like...him. There'd always been a strict line between Bruce Banner, Ph.D. and Hulk, green rage monster. Torturing someone felt like he might be crossing that line, and once he went over it, there would be no turning back.

And yet...even if he _wanted_ to do it _(and you don't. Right?)_...could he? Could he do that and maintain control? He just didn't know, but he didn't think he could.

Suddenly, Loki offered Bruce a hand up. Instead of taking it, Bruce looked at it warily. Loki scoffed, "Really, Banner? _You _are not the enemy here, as odd as that must seem for you. It is fairly odd to me as well." He smirked. "But there's a bigger problem here, I think, than the bad blood between us."

Bruce let Loki haul him to his feet, refraining from commenting on the fact that the 'bad blood' between them was entirely to blame for the situation they found themselves in—if Loki hadn't taken it upon himself to lead the damn Hulk towards a regiment of US soldiers, Bruce probably wouldn't have been declared too dangerous to be free. And then SHIELD wouldn't have taken him into custody and done...well, everything that they'd done.

Well...he couldn't guarantee that (SHIELD had been developing that drug for a long time, after all, when Bruce thought they were on good terms. That didn't really speak to a good relationship), but still. The point stood. But saying as much might have been too coherent, too antagonistic for the state of mind Bruce was supposed to be in.

Loki was looking at Bruce expectantly, and Bruce realized that he must have missed a question while he was musing. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked you how you wish to proceed." The demigod sounded mildly impatient, yet seemed like he was making a concerted effort to reign his irritation in.

It was completely surreal.

"Um...I don't know," Bruce admitted. He needed to buy time, needed to think, needed to determine what the hell he was supposed to do here. He couldn't do that between Loki's intense gaze, and Locklear's hateful glare, and the room full of henchmen and criminals looking on like spectators at a sports match.

"Oh, Banner," Loki said, and there was a touch more impatience in his voice than there had been a moment before. "Don't be shy."

Shy. Shy was good. That was a good angle. He could do shy. _Thank you, Loki_. Bruce bit his bottom lip, casting a sideways glance at Locklear. "Maybe, uh. Could we get some privacy?" He felt pretty damn awkward saying that, which worked out well—made it more believable.

Loki sighed dramatically, but did not look particularly surprised at Bruce's request. "I suppose. It's your first time, after all." He winked, and Bruce felt sick as he wondered what, exactly, Loki was hinting at. "We have been keeping our guest in that spare room back there," he gestured lazily towards the door through which the henchmen had brought Locklear, "You can use that, if it suits your...purposes."

Bruce nodded, barely registering the two guys dragging Locklear back into the room, the woman weakly attempting to twist away. He looked up at Loki. There was one thing he needed to know (oh, who was he kidding, there were a thousand things he needed to know) before he could go any further. "I thought she was dead."

"Ah. It was hardly an effort to make it seem that was the case. And," he smiled, showing far too many teeth, "she might as well be dead. Do try to have fun, Banner."

Bruce tried not to grimace. He turned towards the room where Locklear had been taken, trying to think of _something_ he could do to fix this. But then he turned back one last time. "Just, uh, one more thing. _Why_?"

"Why am I doing this?" Loki sounded lazy, bored, but underneath was a current of anger that was impossible to miss.

"Yeah."

Loki's eyes flashed. "I do not approve of torture." One corner of his mouth turned up as he acknowledged the absurdity of his own words. "Except in certain exceptional cases."

And that left Bruce with more questions, but Loki waved him off. "I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labor, Banner. Try to be...creative."

So Bruce turned and, pretending he didn't notice the guns pointed at his back, slumped towards the door.

_If this is Loki's idea of doing the 'right thing'_, he thought, slipping past the guards at the door, _I think I'd prefer if he stuck to trying to take over the world._

* * *

It took Tony forty-five minutes to get JARVIS back online, and by the time he did, he was livid.

He stormed back into the kitchen where he'd left Steve and Thor, muttering viciously about how he didn't _miss _a security gap like that. At their twin blank looks, he just threw up his hands in abject frustration, took a swig from the bottle of whiskey that had been left untouched by the stove, and stalked into the next room, beckoning for them to follow over his shoulder.

In the living room, he'd pulled up a couple of screens and was flopped in an armchair, tablet in hand. "JARVIS, pull the security footage for this floor starting...fifteen minutes before the intruder was detected." He wanted to see what happened to Bruce before he tried to figure out what had happened to JARVIS.

"Of course, sir. May I apologize again for—"

"Don't want to hear it, JARVIS."

Steve asked cautiously, "Is your AI apologizing for being...hacked?"

Tony fiddled around with the tablet before he looked up. "Huh? Oh, yeah, he is. Fat lot of good that's gonna do, though." He glanced up at the screen, then at his companions. "You ready to roll? Whoever it was took out most of the computer systems, but that didn't stop the security footage from recording. Guess he wasn't as smart as he thought." Tony was paranoid enough to have redundancies for his redundancies.

Steve and Thor both nodded, treading carefully around Tony's temper.

The fifteen minutes of footage before the alarm was boring as hell. Bruce was sitting at the table, eating cake. Clint was in the living room, flipping through the channels on the television and looking very, very bored.

Even without sound, they could tell when JARVIS announced the intruder—Bruce froze. Clint, on the other hand, leapt up immediately, drawing a gun from...somewhere and launched himself into the next room. He rushed over to Bruce, who was apparently trying to converse with JARVIS, and practically dragged the physicist towards the stairs.

They were nearly there when another person just _appeared _on screen between Bruce and Clint. Clint whipped around, gun at the ready, but the mutant vanished and popped up behind him, whacking him across the head with the butt of the gun he carried. And then he was gone again.

Bruce caught Clint as he slumped forward and gently lowered the assassin to the ground. He looked around quickly before crouching next to Clint and feeling for his pulse. Then, he reached into his pocket but pulled his hand back out, empty.

"Oh," Tony observed, "This is where he realizes he left his phone in his room. Idiot."

Sure enough, Bruce turned and strode towards his room, casting nervous looks around him. He ducked inside.

And didn't come out again.

They watched the video of the hallway until they appeared on it, and then Tony pressed something on his tablet and the screens went blank. "And now I wish I'd gone all Big Brother and put security cameras in the bedrooms." He shook his head. "Damn."

"I thought you did have cameras in the bedrooms," Steve pointed out. "How else would JARVIS know, well...everything JARVIS knows?"

Tony shrugged. "Smart building materials. Infrared sensors. Couple of other things that aren't available on the market yet. Look, the point is, we still don't know what the fuck _happened_."

"But we do," Thor pointed out. "We know that Banner was pursued by that...man. But he was not harmed. Only Barton was targeted."

"And we know that he chose to go with that guy," Steve added. "Because in every other case, well, that was the choice, wasn't it? Go along or be killed."

"That's not good enough!" Tony growled. "_Why_ did he go? It's not like he can actually be killed, it's not like anyone can really make him do anything he doesn't want to—" Except, Tony realized, that wasn't really true. Bruce was easy to manipulate, almost ridiculously so. SHIELD had done it, had gotten Bruce to _agree _to torture and imprisonment. Getting him to come along and join the supervillain superclub? Reasonably easy by comparison. Just point out the window at all the innocent little bystanders who could become collateral damage, and Bruce would be nice and compliant, willing to do anything, _anything _at all to make sure he didn't hurt anyone.

"Tony?" Steve prompted when the billionaire still hadn't finished his sentence after a minute.

"Shit. It's obvious what happened. Those absolute _bastards_."

"Could you perhaps clarify?" Thor asked patiently.

Tony waved a hand. "Don't you see? Bruce isn't a criminal. And he knows what sort of people this organization is rife with. He wouldn't _join_. Unless he didn't have a choice."

"Everyone else had a choice, though," Steve pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah. 'Join or die.' But Bruce can't die, at least, a bullet in the head won't do it. So it would have been 'join or get shot.' And getting shot would have just provoked the Other Guy..."

"Which would have been a disaster," Thor finished, grim.

"And it would have completely blown what we're trying to pull over on SHIELD." Tony sighed. "That moron. Probably thinks he's doing the right damn thing, protecting the rest of us in case something goes wrong. In case there _is _an 'incident,' he can act like the rest of us weren't involved."

Thor and Steve considered this in silence for several seconds. That Bruce would do something like that—sacrifice himself so that only he would have to take the fall when things went south—wasn't surprising. But it was still disheartening. "What do we do, then?" Steve asked. "Do we tell Fury?"

"Do you really think that he's gonna believe that Bruce was just trying to protect us? That he didn't join up because he wanted to get his revenge on the organization that tortured him for nine months?" Tony clenched his jaw. "I don't think so."

"I thought they have been watching the building. Surely they will have noticed that something has gone amiss today," Thor stated. "They may wish for confirmation that all is well."

Tony clenched his eyes shut. "Fuck. You're right. I don't know. I don't know what we should do. He looked at Steve. "Come on, Cap. You're team leader. Make a call."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Nice." He considered for a moment. "I think we need to tell Fury. We need to tell him _everything_, because that's the only way he's going to believe Bruce was trying to protect us." Correctly interpreting the stormy look on Tony's face, he added, "And if, when all of this is over, he tries to take Bruce back into custody, or tries to do _anything _to _any _of us," he glanced at Tony, "Well...we'll deal with that if we have to."

"Indeed we will," Thor agreed, hand on Mjölnir, meaning clear.

"Fine." Tony sighed. "But _I_'m not calling him. We don't get along."

* * *

Alone with Locklear, door closed and locked firmly behind him, Bruce had no idea what to do.

So he started with checking the room for surveillance. There was nothing obvious, but Bruce knew that didn't mean much. Not to mention, Loki had a really colorful collection of people working for him. He had at least one person who could teleport. Did he have anyone who could see through the damn walls?

Bruce had read all of their files, and he didn't remember anything about x-ray vision, but that didn't mean anything. It seemed like just about anything could happen these days, like anything was within the realm of possibility. And he wasn't going to take any risks.

He looked at Locklear, who was staring at him, wide eyed.

"What?" he snapped at her. Her eyes widened another fraction of an inch. She was clearly terrified of him.

_Maybe she should be_.

_Oh Banner, you are in so far over your head right now. Keep it together!_

He paced, refusing to look at her again, but he could feel her eyes on him, watching. Waiting.

Keeping it together was starting to seem kind of far-fetched.

As if from a great distance, he could hear her trying to say something around the gag. Bruce looked up. Her hands were bound behind her still, but she was slowly working the dirty rag out of her mouth.

Finally, she spit it on the floor in front of her and licked her lips to wet them. "How long..." she coughed, then tried again, "How long have you been off the gamma mutation suppression serum?"

Bruce felt his own eyes widen.

"I knew the second I saw you," she added. "I spent enough time working with you that I know what GMSS looks like. It's obvious that you barely have the _monster _under control."

Bruce cast a quick glance at the door, but no one came bursting in at her revelation. So either no one was listening, or they wanted to see how this was going to play out.

Fine. Bruce kind of wanted to see how it was going to play out, too.

"About a week, I guess."

She grimaced. "I can't believe you would willingly put so many people in danger."

Bruce felt a wave of self-doubt crash over him—he'd been telling Tony the same thing for a month—but then he remembered what Tony had been telling _him _for a month. "I have more control over it than you think I do."

"Right."

He clenched his jaw at her tone, at the very fact they were _conversing_, after everything she'd done to him. He'd just wanted to put her, SHIELD, behind him, but here it was, here _she _was, right in his damn face. And there was no way to get out of this.

Angry, but trying desperately to calm down (because he _wasn't _going to put God knows how many people in danger, not if he could help it—and he didn't want to prove her right) he pointed out, "This is your fault, you know."

"I hardly think so—"

"You, SHIELD, whatever. That whack job out there? Loki? He's doing this because of what you did to _me_. I don't know _why_, but I think he is." Screw the people listening in, if they even were. Bruce had never planned on having this conversation—had hoped he'd never have the opportunity, truth be told—but now that he was? He was going to have it.

"He's _insane_," Locklear said dismissively. "That's hardly an excuse for what he's doing. There _is _no excuse. He should be locked up—"

Bruce couldn't help it—he laughed.

It sounded just a _little _hysterical.

_Keep it together, Banner._

"—And so should you!" she finished. "You're dangerous, too dangerous to _live_ and I tried to _help _you, and you just threw that away the first chance you got! You _disgust _me!"

Well, it was good to know he wasn't the only one getting a little hysterical.

"Help. You tried to help me?" Sober, clear-minded, her lies sounded exactly like that. Lies. Because this? This whole situation? Bruce thought it was pretty good damn proof that he wasn't going to lose it and 'Hulk Out' at the drop of a hat. If he'd been having doubts before, well, he wasn't. Not now.

"You've attacked countless innocent people! You nearly took out a regiment of friendly soldiers! You've caused damage and destruction everywhere you go! You need to be _controlled!_"

And...maybe what she was saying was true. He _had_ attacked people, and he _was _dangerous. But...he didn't need to be controlled. He _had _control. Tony said so. The others said so. He wasn't just a mindless beast, something to be locked up. He was more than that. "You really think that?"

"Yes. I do." The fear and hatred in her eyes did not lie, and it hit him right in the gut. She really thought he was a monster. _Nothing _he did was ever going to make her think otherwise.

"Loki wants me to torture you and kill you," Bruce told her, his voice flat. "He wants me to prove I'm really with him."

"Aren't you? Then just do it." She sounded like dying to prove herself right was something she wouldn't mind, and _where _were her self-preservation instincts?

Bruce gritted his teeth. He _wasn't_ okay with this, he _wasn't_ part of Loki's plan, but he needed to know what Loki's plan _was_. And he couldn't think of a way to get out of this _without_ doing what Loki wanted from him. He was spiraling up towards panic, towards the loss of control he was trying to avoid, trying desperately to stay calm and _failing_...

"I mean, what's one more death on your hands matter, anyway?"

Bruce whipped his head around. "I never—" He'd never actually killed anyone. The Other Guy had, yeah. But Bruce? Never. And he wasn't going to start now. He wasn't going to be the monster she thought he was.

Suddenly, his thoughts cleared, the tension in his chest dissipated. _He _wasn't a monster...and maybe he could play that to his advantage.

He walked over to her and picked the rag up off the ground, shoving it roughly back in her mouth. He wasn't going to kill her, but that didn't mean he had to be nice to her. Then he went to the door and pounded on it. "Hey! Someone! Loki!"

The door opened a moment later, framing the demigod and a pair of guards. Loki looked over Bruce's shoulder, towards the bound and gagged but still untouched Locklear. "Yes, Banner? Are you having some...difficulty? 'Performance issues,' perhaps?" He turned his suspicious gaze to meet Bruce's eyes. "Or is it something else? Lack of dedication?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, it's just...I can't do this. It's not...me. I just...can't." He shrugged helplessly, awkwardly.

Loki glowered at him, but then his sneer morphed quickly into a frown. "Well, this woman _did_ say that you might be...apathetic. Perhaps your lack of enthusiasm does not necessarily mean lack of dedication. And you have always struck me as...soft. A fascinating contrast with the monster you contain, truly...No, I imagine this situation _is_ quite distasteful for you." He considered a moment before he pushed past Bruce roughly and walked to Locklear's side, tilting her head up with one finger. "_I _suffer no lack of enthusiasm, and I am certainly not soft." He took Locklear's chin in his hand roughly and looked at Bruce expectantly. "Just say the word, Banner, and I shall gladly do what you and your weakness could not."

Bruce's stomach turned. Was this better? Was this really better? Did this make him any less of a monster than if he had just done this himself? He didn't know, didn't know _what _this made him.

But he _needed _to be here, needed Loki to trust him, needed to prove beyond a doubt that he was dedicated to this. So he gave Locklear one last glance—she was glaring at him, anger and fear clear on her face, protestations muffled behind her gag—before he met Loki's eyes.

He nodded once, swift, succinct.

The sound of Locklear's neck breaking was very loud in the silence.

* * *

**And that's that.**

**Thanks for reading, following, and favoriting.**

**Another chapter's come and gone,**  
**the words are writ, conclusions drawn.**  
**And after all the work I do,**  
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	12. Opportunity

**Warnings: some language, angst, Loki.**

**My beta, irite, continues to be amazing. She helps me wrangle Thor.**

**Blah blah blah don't own The Avengers blah blah blah...**

* * *

After they talked it over, Tony, Steve, and Thor decided to hold off on contacting Fury about Bruce's abduction? departure? until they at least had Natasha with them. Clint, too, if the doctors were going to let him out of the hospital sometime this century, but they at least wanted Natasha—they needed _someone _who knew how SHIELD protocol worked, someone who could play by their rules. They knew it was risky, knew that time was of the essence, but rushing into this blindly wasn't something that any of them particularly wanted to do. Not when the safety of their friend was at stake.

So they waited.

Tony took the time to review the security footage from the rest of the building. He needed to know how their uninvited guest had managed to compromise JARVIS. But the footage was mostly useless for that, and it occurred to him fairly quickly that for anyone to exploit the security flaw that he'd found, they would need to have a pretty intimate knowledge of the whole system. That meant it wasn't a smash-and-grab sort of thing. Someone had been planning this out for awhile. Someone had been surveilling the building and its computer systems for awhile.

And that didn't bode well. At all. Still, he didn't say anything to the others, not wanting to worry them just yet, not if he didn't have to.

It was getting fairly late by the time Natasha finally made it back to the Tower. Ignoring all of the questions being fired at her by the three present Avengers, she instead made her way back to the living area (plucking Tony's whiskey bottle off the counter in the kitchen on the way through) and flopped down on one of the couches. She took a long drink before she finally looked up, an unusual tightness visible around her eyes.

"They're keeping Clint overnight for observation. Concussion-like symptoms. Getting him to agree to that was a pain in the ass, but I can be persuasive."

Tony had no doubts about that.

"So what's going on?" Natasha asked after another drink. She set the bottle on a nearby coffee table. "What's our next move?" She looked between Steve and Tony. Thor was staying back, out of the conversation.

"We talked it over," Steve said, stepping up into 'leader' mode, "And we think we need to tell Fury what's going on. Come clean about it. About everything."

Before he was even finished, Natasha was shaking her head. "What? Why?" Tony knew that she worked best in covert circumstances, could see why such a direct approach might not sit well with her. But he stood behind what they'd decided, and he nodded at Steve, prodding him to keep going.

Steve sighed and quickly explained what they'd seen on the security footage, including their speculation about why Bruce would leave with the intruder willingly. He finished with, "SHIELD is going to figure out that _something _happened here. Buildings don't just go into lockdown for no reason. And if they figure out Bruce isn't here...well...how things went down, it doesn't look good."

Natasha nodded, like she understood. Then she asked the room at large, "Are you all insane? Do you have any idea what could happen if we do that?"

Incidentally, Tony did. He'd spent a fair amount of time musing on it, on all of the unpleasant consequences that this particular course of action was probably going to rain down on him. On all of them, really. But he also knew that this was the only way they had a prayer of convincing Fury that Bruce wasn't out for revenge. So he shrugged. "Yeah. It's probably going to be a shit show. But if Fury hears from someone else that Bruce has taken up with the Supervillain Superclub? He's going to shoot first, ask questions later. Probably not gonna ask questions at all. What happened...well, like Capsicle said, it doesn't look good. There's no way for anyone to tell that Bruce was trying to protect us from any...culpability. Unless we can prove that Bruce was _trying _to hide something, it just looks like he went along willingly—"

"What if he did?" Natasha interjected, cold and clinical.

Thor took an angry step forward, but Tony's head snapped up and he spoke first, "What the _fuck_, Romanoff? Of course he didn't, why would you even ask—"

"Hey, chill out. I'm not saying he _did_. But we need to look at this from every angle. 'Cause that's what Fury's going to do. And if you're not prepared for that, then this plan's never going to get off the ground and we should throw something else together."

Tony thought (and therefore was inclined to assume that everyone else did as well) that the idea of _Bruce Banner_ willingly joining some coalition of 'bad guys' bent on getting revenge for their (in most cases) unlawful imprisonment by SHIELD was completely ludicrous. That wasn't who Bruce was—he was _far _more likely to run from his problems. And after what SHIELD had done to him, he was bound and determined to never think about them again. His 'forgive and forget' mentality baffled Tony—because _how_ could Bruce forgive _or _forget what had been done to him? But it was definitely the path that Bruce had chosen, and Tony couldn't really see Bruce doing such an abrupt 180. Anyone who knew the physicist at all would see things the same way.

But Fury _didn't_ know Bruce, Tony recognized. All he really knew about Bruce was what he read in the files, what Locklear and her ilk decided to make him into on paper. Which, if Fury's changing attitude towards Bruce (and it _had _changed from what it was before SHIELD had imprisoned the physicist) was anything to go by, was really, really bad.

Tony sighed. "You're right. Do you think we can make him see things our way, or should we, fuck, I don't know, try and do this on our own?" Having SHIELD's help could be useful, maybe even necessary, but Tony wasn't willing to go down that road if it was going to put Bruce in danger.

"Fury's reasonable," Natasha answered after a moment. She ignored Tony's derisive snort. "He can be convinced. But it's not going to be easy."

Tony turned to Steve and Thor. "Well, we've got the muscle on our side, at least."

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Steve muttered, grim. "Okay, guys, this is what I think we should do. We call Fury from here, see if he has any new intel. Then we lay out our case. If things look like they're going to go south, well...we'll deal with that if we have to. Where's the most defensible place in the Tower, Tony?"

Thor straightened from where he'd relaxed back against the doorway after Tony dealt with Natasha's unwelcome query, speaking up for the first time—planning wasn't his forte, but action definitely was. "You do not think we will be attacked, surely."

Steve shot him a quick look. "I'd say it's definitely possible."

Tony and Natasha nodded their agreement. Personally, Tony thought it was more than possible Fury would attack. He was leaning towards 'probable.' But then, he was a bit of a pessimist about this sort of thing. At the very least, though, Fury could have him arrested. The conditions of Bruce's release were fairly unequivocal, and Tony had definitely reneged on his end of the agreement. It wasn't likely that SHIELD was going to take that lightly. "My lab's pretty 'defensible,'" Tony told them, mind tracing over the schematics and plans for the rest of the building. "We can make the call from there, at least."

"Okay, let's do that," Steve instructed. He looked briefly at his watch. "It's kind of late, should we—"

Natasha waved him off. "It's not late. Not for SHIELD. And we should do this ASAP." She glared between the three men and added, "You've already wasted enough time, what the hell were you waiting for, anyway? An engraved invitation?"

"We were waiting for _you_, oh ex-SHIELD agent," Tony snarked, leading the others towards the elevator. "We wanted the official input from someone who'd worked for that batshit crazy operation."

Natasha sighed. "Official input that you then promptly ignored." But she didn't sound bitter about it, at least. Just weary. Which Tony could definitely relate to at this point.

In his lab, Tony quickly rearranged a few things so that there was room for everyone to sit around his desk and so that nothing he didn't want SHIELD to know about would be visible during the video call. Then he beckoned Steve over towards the front chair. He fully intended to have Steve make the call—if he did it himself, they'd probably be at war with SHIELD in less than five minutes. That was just the kind of chemistry Tony had with Fury.

When Steve was comfortable, Tony entered some commands from his seat in the back of the group, halfway hidden behind Thor so that the demigod could be a buffer between the director and himself. "Everyone ready?"

Steve nodded—tense and nervous, even as he tried to hide it—and Tony placed the call.

Fury appeared on the screen in front of them. "What can I do for you?"

He sounded terse, like the modicum of tact he was employing was physically taxing. Still, Tony appreciated that the director hadn't greeted them with a friendly 'What the fuck do you want?' It made things seem a little less hostile.

Not much, though.

"Director," Steve stated evenly, respectful. "We need to talk."

Much less polite now, Fury answered, "Damn straight we do. What the _hell _is going on over there? My intel says Stark Tower was in full lockdown for almost two hours early this afternoon."

Tony tensed. He knew SHIELD had been surveilling his building since he'd started his whole crusade against them, but he still didn't particularly want to hear about it—ignorance was bliss and all. He opened his mouth to speak, but Steve (thankfully) beat him to it.

"We had a security breach."

"Yeah, no shit. _Who was it_?" Fury's patience seemed to be running out already. Which was too bad—this conversation was only going to get worse.

"We don't know the culprit's name for sure," Steve told him. Then, taking in Fury's increasingly thunderous demeanor, he decided to just dive in. "But we suspect it was one of the ex-detainees that SHIELD...misplaced recently. The teleporter."

Fury narrowed his eyes. Tony knew the director wasn't stupid—he was probably already making the connection. "You mean the one who's been surveilled as part of the organization we are currently investigating. The organization that's targeting SHIELD. _That _teleporter?"

"Yes, sir," Steve answered, far more politely than Tony would have managed.

"And _what_, exactly, was his purpose in your building, Stark?"

Tony winced—he'd been hoping that Fury just wouldn't notice him, hidden behind Thor as he was, let alone call him out. Luckily, Steve realized the danger of having Tony involved in the conversation and answered for him, "We believe he was attempting to recruit Dr. Banner to their cause."

There was several beats of silence, then Fury's eye widened minutely, his voice icy. "And is Banner still in residence at Stark Tower, Rogers?"

Instead of answering his question, Steve said, "There are some things we need to tell you."

"Bullshit! You need to tell me if the most dangerous man in the world—"

"Oh, puh-lease," Tony piped up from his corner, immediately wishing he hadn't. But he was never one to back down once he'd started something. "He's not the most dangerous man in the world, I mean, hell, I've killed _way_ more people than he has, and I got _paid _for it. Have you been drinking Locklear's 'Bruce is a monster' kool-aid or what, because I'm not sure where you're getting this shit from—"

Steve made an abrupt gesture, cutting him off.

Fury narrowed his eyes. "Locklear was the first person to study Banner at length. And what she reported was disturbing to say the least. So forgive me if I'm a little fucking _upset _by this."

Tony had about a million things he could have said in response to that, but he refrained, fuming silently behind Thor for the sake of diplomacy. After a long, tense stretch of silence, Steve launched into his explanation

Tony had to give him credit—it was surprisingly eloquent and well put together. And when he was done, Tony was 100% convinced that Bruce had only gone with his kidnapper to protect Tony (and the rest of the team) from the consequences of what could happen if there was an 'incident.'

Fury did not look so convinced, though. In fact, he looked livid.

And then he ended the call with an angry stab of a finger.

Everyone looked at the blank screen for a couple of seconds before Steve said questioningly, "Tony...?"

"Yeah, he just hung up on us," Tony confirmed, imagining Fury ordering an air strike that very minute.

Natasha stood. "Okay, we should—"

She was interrupted by an incoming video call.

It was Fury.

He didn't speak for almost a minute, just glaring out at the superheroes in front of him. Finally, he growled, "What. The fuck. Is wrong with you people?"

Tony, unable to recognize a rhetorical question, opened his mouth to answer. Natasha stepped over and slapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him, thankfully, and Steve answered calmly, "Sir, you have to realize—"

"I don't have to realize _shit_, Rogers. Except that Stark expressly broke the contract he signed regarding Banner's treatment. And in so doing, he's put all of us in danger. Because now Banner's unmedicated and working for a group of individuals who are most likely seeking revenge against SHIELD—"

"He's not, though," Tony interjected, unable to continue to listen to Fury disparaging Bruce. "He's _not_ working for them. He only left with that guy because otherwise, he would have been shot. And then he would have Hulked out, and you'd've brought him back into custody, and then you'd realize what _I _had done. He was trying to protect me."

"I should have you arrested," was all Fury said in response. "I fucking should. And I might."

"You will not find that to be an easy endeavor—" Thor defended Tony, half-rising from his seat.

Fury lifted a hand, cutting Thor off. "Shut it, Thor. I'm well within my rights to have Stark taken into custody right this damn second. But I'm not going to. Not right now, at least. Because we need to clean this fucking mess up ASAP." He paused, rubbing his forehead. "Whether or not Banner's actually working for them, having him in that situation is dangerous. He's unpredictable."

Thor settled back into his chair, his defense of his teammate unnecessary at the moment.

Tony didn't like the way Fury was treating this situation like Bruce _was_ the danger, not like he was _in _danger. But there wasn't much he could do about it—Fury was being _way _more reasonable than he'd expected. But then, he'd been expecting an aerial strike on the Tower, so...

Fury continued, "We have some leads on where this group might be camped out. We need to investigate them, see if we can find these assholes. I was hoping that we could bait them into acting first, but now that's too fucking dangerous." He glared at the Avengers. "I want you on the front lines of this. You made this mess; you're cleaning it up."

That suited Tony just fine—he didn't want SHIELD within ten miles of Bruce.

Steve was apparently thinking the same thing. "Fine. What do you need us to do?"

Fury considered for a minute. "Nothing. I need to talk to my agents, get some teams in order. I'll contact you in the morning with orders."

"Instructions," Steve corrected. "We don't take orders from you."

A vein in Fury's temple twitched. "Whatever. I'll be in touch. But take one more step out of line and I will take care of you my own damn self."

The screen went black.

For several seconds, the team didn't speak. Then, Natasha muttered, "Well, that went better than expected."

"You could say that," Steve agreed, sounding disconcerted by the way the call had ended.

"I cannot help but feel that was too easy," Thor said darkly, standing.

Steve frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's right," Tony said. "We were expecting an attack. We barely even got scolded." Fury had seemed angry, yeah. He'd hung up on them twice like an overdramatic teenage girl. And he'd vaguely threatened to have Tony arrested at some point in the future. But he hadn't said much about Bruce, hadn't said much about their deception. It was weird.

"Well...think about it," Natasha pointed out. "This ends up working out really well for him, doesn't it?" At their confused looks, she continued, "Bruce gets mixed up in this, we want to save our friend. Which means we'll do just about anything to achieve that goal. Including taking out this whole organization if we have to. So basically, Fury gets this problem taken care of with very little resources expended on his part. It's...convenient."

"I've seen this strategy used before," Thor offered. "It does not usually work out well for the agents of the main parties."

To Thor, Tony said, "Well, Point Break, you're right. We're probably gonna get screwed, but I don't see how we have much choice in the matter." Turning back to Natasha, he said, "Even if that's what's going on, you'd think he'd be more concerned about...the rest of it." For how gung-ho SHIELD had been about Bruce's 'treatment,' Fury had taken the news of their deception surprisingly well.

Thor inclined his head, and Natasha shrugged. "We'll just have to see where this goes. But if it makes you feel any better, he's probably going to have you arrested when all this is over."

Strangely...it didn't.

* * *

Loki was talking, but Bruce wasn't listening.

He was too busy staring at the limp body lying at the demigod's feet.

As he watched, Loki dispassionately prodded at it with one booted foot, the movement startling Bruce. "Banner, am I boring you?"

Bruce slowly managed to drag his eyes up to meet Loki's. Mouth bone dry, he choked out, "Sorry, what?"

Loki repeated whatever he'd just said, but Bruce still didn't catch it. He was distracted—Locklear's eyes were open, and she was _glaring _at him, accusing and hateful even in death.

Suddenly, Bruce leaned over where he was standing and vomited. In that moment, he regretted immensely having had cake and orange juice for breakfast; that had been a terrible choice.

_Terrible choices seem to be your forte today, though_.

And wasn't that true. The dead body staring at him from across the room certainly seemed to agree, at least.

Straightening, Bruce wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. Loki was talking again, but it was so hard to hear him over the blood rushing in his ears and the cacophony of variations on 'what the hell have you done' blasting through his mind. Loki, by contrast, was very quiet. Irrelevant, almost.

Almost, except for the fact that, in the time Bruce had been musing, the demigod had approached and was now cupping Bruce's chin in the same way he'd been holding Locklear's moments before he'd snapped her neck, pulling Bruce's face up so that he could look into it.

Nothing good could come from that, so Bruce, with a huge effort, focused in on him.

Loki cast a critical eye over him from head to foot. "Banner, are you quite alright?"

Bruce nodded slowly, dislodging his chin from Loki's grip. He swallowed once, then one more time for good measure, and said, "I'm...fine."

Loki grinned, sudden and disconcerting. "I'm sure you are." But he did not seem entirely convinced. Almost to himself, he continued, "Perhaps this has been a bit of a shock. Although..." he looked down at Bruce's wrist, where the bracelet was visible peeking out from under his sleeve. Then he shook his head, as if dismissing a thought. "I suppose it must be a relief, knowing that woman cannot ever harm you again."

_No, she can't,_ Bruce thought, _but there's a whole team at SHIELD who'd be more than happy to take her place_.

He didn't say that aloud, though. Loki seemed to think he'd done Bruce a favor, that Bruce should be happy about how this situation was going. He wasn't. Not at all. In fact, he was leaning towards puking again, or maybe having a good, old fashioned panic attack—

_Can't do that, Banner. Gotta keep it together. He still thinks you're drugged__._ _You're lucky he hasn't figured it out yet—I think he almost did. Just keep it up a bit longer. Come on._

Bruce took a deep breath and pushed away his anxiety, his rising anger and the trickle of self-loathing seeping through the cracks in his mental walls. He didn't know how long he could keep doing this—he was starting to feel frayed, almost surreal. What had happened to Locklear was, without a doubt, his fault. There was no excusing it—he had as good as murdered her himself. Whether or not she deserved it wasn't his call to make. And now he was as much a murderer as the Other Guy ever was, and _Oh God, don't think about it, __**don't think about it**_**.**

Bruce took a deep breath, clearing his mind. For one sharp, bright moment, he wished desperately that he was back on the GMSS.

But wishing wasn't going to help. At the moment, if nothing else, _Loki _at least was happy, and a happy Loki was infinitely less dangerous than an angry, vengeful Loki. Staying on the trickster's good side seemed like a smart course of action, seemed like it might be able to fend off disaster for a little bit longer. And that was enough to anchor him, at least for the moment.

He didn't know how long it would last; didn't know how long he could hold back, didn't know how long it would be until he needed to find something _else _to anchor him.

Bruce shook his head minutely, briefly clenching his eyes shut against a wave of nausea. Really, buying time was about all he figured he could do. Sure, he hoped to get some useful information out of this, maybe relay it back to the rest of the team. But he was getting a more realistic picture of how this was going to go down, and now it seemed like his best plan was to buy as much time as possible, to hold up Loki's plan as long as possible to give the others time to figure out what was going on. To give them time to get him the hell out of here before anyone else was hurt.

_Do you really expect them to rescue you_?

That stopped Bruce's train of thought abruptly. _Did _he expect the others to rescue him?

The answer, he was shocked to discover, was that he _did_. At one point, he would have relied entirely on himself, would have believed that he was completely alone in this. Would have believed he _deserved _to be alone in this. That was how it had been for years. He'd had to face his problems alone. And he'd done it, yeah. Usually...badly, if everyone's reactions to his previous problem solving strategies was anything to go by. But he'd managed.

Now, though, he didn't have to 'manage.' He knew that he _wasn't_ alone, that he wasn't going to have to do this on his own. No, he had friends now, friends who could (and _would_) go through anything for him. Anything. Even if he _was _a monster.

Bruce clenched his jaw. He couldn't think like that. Shouldn't. They were going to hold up their end of this; he had to hold up his. And that meant keeping it together, playing Loki, and trying not to get anyone (including himself...who knew what Loki was capable of, especially with the device he'd lifted?) killed.

So he forced his mouth into a small smile, turning his head minutely so that Locklear's body was out of his line of sight. He felt immediately better. "You're right. It _is _a relief."

Loki gave him an appraising look. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he stepped around Bruce and out of the room. He beckoned for Bruce to follow.

Bruce of course obeyed. As did the two guards who'd been flanking Loki. The demigod dismissed them, though, with a cold, "You may go," his eyes flashing.

It wasn't just a suggestion. The pair scurried off, like they were grateful to be away from the mercurial demigod.

Bruce supposed they probably were.

Loki and Bruce walked in silence for a minute, Loki leading him out of the large warehouse-sized building they were in. Bruce got his first good look at the compound they were in. It seemed like it was a series of buildings located in a remote corner of a forest. Loki was leading Bruce towards a series of smaller cabins off to one side. The area was surrounded by dense foliage—even in the late afternoon sunlight, Bruce couldn't see more than a hundred feet into the area beyond the edge of the clearing. When they got to the cabins, Loki stopped.

"This is where you shall be staying for the duration of your...association with us," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the last cabin in the row. "Most of my minions," he grinned at the word, "are housed in more...rustic accommodations." He pointed towards the other end of the clearing, where Bruce could see something like a tent village. "I, myself, am one of your neighbors," he indicated a larger cabin set a little apart from the others.

Turning back to Loki, Bruce said, "Um, okay. Thanks." He headed towards his cabin, eager to get away from Loki (and back to some semblance of sanity) as soon as possible.

However, he was stopped by Loki's iron grip on his upper arm. "Dr. Banner, we have not yet finished the tour."

Bruce shrugged Loki's hand off, an instinctive reaction that he couldn't shake. "Sorry." He couldn't manage much more—the last couple of hours had taken a lot out of him, and he was exhausted. Paired with the huge emotional slap in the face he'd just had, well, things were getting increasingly hard to handle—Bruce felt on the verge of hysterical laughter. Or sobbing. Or both. He didn't know how long he was going to have control (because he was barely able to believe that he had _any _control...SHIELD had done their best to take that from him, after all, so all of this was him testing his boundaries). And every minute he spent with Loki was an opportunity to blow his cover.

Loki took Bruce's apparent sullenness in stride. "I am sure you are fatigued. Let me at least show you the center of our operations, and then you may retire."

It was hard to believe that this was the same Loki that Bruce had met before. That Loki had been ruthless, cunning, cruel. He had seen nothing wrong with using Bruce as a pawn in one of his plans, a plan which had directly resulted in Bruce's 9-month incarceration. This caring, concerned, patient demeanor? It seemed entirely uncharacteristic—in fact, Loki seemed to struggle with it immensely—but the demigod was maintaining it nonetheless. But for what purpose?

Still thinking, trying to puzzle it out, Bruce let Loki lead him back towards the warehouse. Instead of going inside, though, they turned left and walked along the wall until they came to the doors to a cellar. One of the lingering 'minions' rushed to open the doors for Loki, who barely acknowledged him as he gestured for Bruce to go down the stairs first.

The cellar had been converted into some sort of high-tech 'war room,' with numerous consoles and monitors, and computer wires snaking across the floor in all directions. People were tapping away at various projects—from where he was standing, it looked like someone had hacked into the SHIELD surveillance van parked outside of Stark Tower. Another screen had video feeds coming in directly from SHIELD's medical facility.

Loki gestured around grandly. "As you can see, I have eyes and ears everywhere."

Bruce was impressed—he hadn't even known you could get the internet this far out in the middle of nowhere.

_You don't even know where you are. Don't make any assumptions, that's not going to help_.

Which reminded him of his goals: observe, and buy time. He could do that. He looked around the room, taking in the faces of the people working. One or two he thought he recognized from his time with SHIELD, but honestly, his memory about that time was so fuzzy that he couldn't be sure. And he hadn't spent a lot of time interacting with the other 'patients' anyway. Instead, then, he focused on their work. One person was definitely looking at SHIELD's video feed of the Tower.

Before he could get any further, Loki interrupted him with, "Well? What do you think?" The demigod was looking at him, eyebrows raised.

That Loki was apparently seeking his approval was weird in ways that Bruce was not yet prepared to face. And all of this was a lot to process, a lot to take in. He couldn't even fathom the implications of what he was seeing around him—how far, exactly, did Loki's reach extend? What kind of scale were they looking at? And what on _Earth _was going on here? So instead of answering Loki's question—as if he could think of anything appropriate to say—Bruce just shook his head slowly, dazed. "I don't understand."

But Loki didn't look surprised by this admission or even annoyed. Instead, he responded with that weird, uncharacteristic patience. "Of course not. Perhaps I should explain what  
it is we hope to do here. And, if you wish, what my interest is in these affairs. After all, if we are to work together, is it not just as important for you to trust me as it is for me to trust you?" He quirked an eyebrow up to punctuate the question.

Bruce figured he'd trust Loki about the time hell froze over, but he nodded anyway. This was the information he wanted, after all. Even if it did seem...odd that Loki was being so forthcoming, Bruce wasn't going to complain.

In silence, Loki led Bruce out of the cellar and back into the warehouse. They went into one of the offices, which had been converted into a sort-of lounge area, around which largely decrepit furniture was indifferently arranged. Casually, Loki draped himself onto a mildewy armchair; he motioned for Bruce to do the same.

When Bruce was settled onto his threadbare couch, Loki began, "I have never been shy about seizing an opportunity, and this was one that I could not pass up."

It just got stranger from there.

* * *

**Sorry, Loki's verbose and wouldn't fit in this already-long chapter.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Reviews make me happy. Just an FYI.**


	13. Plans or Schemes?

**Warnings: colorful language, angst, Loki.**

**My beta, irite, is amazing and doesn't punt me down a flight of stairs, even when I deserve it.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Bruce tried to gather his thoughts enough to listen to Loki, tried to focus in enough that he could pay attention. This was finally what he was after, _this_ was the information that he wanted. This was the reason he hadn't fled from Loki's side, was, in fact, indulging the demigod in conversation against his own wants. And if he missed it all because he was too busy working up to a panic attack and trying not to 'Hulk out,' he was going to have to slap himself upside the head.

And that, the general consensus decreed, was ill-advised.

So, rather than indulge his core instincts—that were screaming for him to run as far and fast from Loki as possible—he took a few deep breaths, and listened (still on edge, but it was getting better as he forced himself to relax) as Loki delved into his master plan.

"I do not pass up opportunities, not when they fall into my lap as this one did," Loki reiterated. "And this was...practically gift wrapped, personalized. Why, Stark's crusade has rendered SHIELD entirely vulnerable, with all of its enemies both able and eager to go for its throat." He grinned, and Bruce pulled in a little closer to himself without realizing it. "Such a situation is more than a god of chaos could ever hope for."

Bruce really didn't like the sound of that.

"All they _really _required was a shred of organization, a dash of leadership...someone to point them in the right direction. Things I found myself quite capable of. So why should I not partake?"

Yeah, Loki _would_ be interested in taking down SHIELD. That fit. After all, they'd foiled his plan for world domination. But then...if Loki _truly_ wanted SHIELD gone, he could have easily removed them the last time he'd been in town—when he'd gotten his hands on an artifact that granted its owner the ability to bend the rules of whatever realm/world he or she inhabited. Although that hadn't been so much a theft as SHIELD and the Avengers just handing over the tool that could bring about their doom. With it, Loki could have done just about anything to SHIELD then, but he hadn't. He'd chosen to flee.

There was obviously something else going on. Bruce knew that. Because in the hints he'd been dropping since Bruce had arrived, Loki had indicated that he was doing this whole _thing_ (whatever it was—he still hadn't been clear about the details) for _Bruce_. Which was disturbing. Terrifying, actually. Because if Loki was doing this _for him_, then everything that was happening—

_It might be your fault_.

It was illogical, yeah. But Bruce hadn't really been a paragon of logical thinking lately. So he _needed_ to know what had brought Loki back to Earth, what had inspired the demigod to wreak havoc on SHIELD.

Needed to know if this was his mess to clean up.

But as much as he wanted to know (_needed_ to know) what was really happening, Bruce knew he had to tread carefully; fishing for information too obviously could put Loki on his guard. And Bruce needed Loki to trust him, because if the psychotic demigod discovered Bruce's true motives for being here in his camp, there was _no_ telling what he would do. Other than the obvious, that it wouldn't be good. So, tentatively, Bruce asked, "But how did you...I don't know, find out about what was happening here?"

Loki frowned, and Bruce was sure that the demigod wasn't going to answer. When he actually _did_, Bruce had to struggle to contain his surprise, attempting to maintain the pretense that he was under the influence of the GMSS, was not using every bit of his genius-level intellect to discover what Loki's plan was.

Loki shifted, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward slightly, "After we parted, well...it is not easy to keep an item such as that which I 'appropriated' from SHIELD secret."

That, Bruce could believe. A war had nearly been fought over the damn thing once. And once a war had been fought over something, it tended to gain infamy.

Wryly, Loki added, "In theory, one might think that, by its nature, maintaining the secrecy of the item would not be that difficult."

_That's a good point, actually_. If someone could bend the laws of the universe, how hard could it be to hide that you were doing it, really?

Loki smirked. "But that's not true. Although...that might have had more to do with its owner than with the object itself."

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked, curious.

With a shrug, Loki admitted, "I might have a small flair for the dramatic."

"Ah," Bruce said. He supposed it made sense. Loki, after all, wouldn't just calmly settle down somewhere to live out the rest of his existence in quietude and peace. No, that wouldn't suit the demigod at all. He'd want something bigger, shinier. More extravagant. Which would undoubtedly draw the attention of anyone with half a mind to look for either Loki or for the object he possessed.

And there had to be a lot of that sort of person, the way Loki made 'friends.'

When Bruce made no further comments—and Loki politely waited to make sure he wasn't going to, Bruce noted—Loki continued, "So it was not long before I found myself pursued from a number of different avenues, by a number of undesirable parties..." He trailed off—giving Bruce the impression that 'undesirable parties' was a euphemism of epic proportions—before he picked up, "...Some of whom were more competent in their efforts than others. Eventually, I was cornered in a far corner of the universe, foes closing in on all sides, getting rather uncomfortably close." He grimaced, apparently unhappy to be relating this, though Bruce couldn't imagine why; the best he could figure, Loki didn't want to look anything less than omnipotent...like Bruce _didn't_ know he could screw up.

"I could think of only one place to go where I could regroup in peace," Loki added, after a beat.

"Earth?" Bruce suggested.

Loki shot him an annoyed look and snapped, "Of course not. Why would I want to come back here? This realm has been...troublesome from the start. No, I went to Asgard."

That seemed like an awfully dangerous move, considering that Loki had weaseled his way out of being imprisoned there. The people of Asgard probably wouldn't hesitate to lock him back up. "How did—"

Loki ignored the interruption entirely. "There, I posed as a palace guard. None who pursued me would dare to follow me there, lest they risk the wrath of the Allfather, and the sphere allowed me to remain hidden." He shrugged again, elegant, indifferent. "Even Odin could not see past my disguise, once I willed it to be so."

Bruce had to give it to him—Loki had guts. Hiding in plain sight, right in front of one of the allegedly most powerful beings in existence? But as interesting as all that was, it still didn't answer the most pressing question. "How did you end up here, then? _Why_ did you end up here?"

"Oh. Yes." Loki seemed irritated at being pushed along in his story, but he didn't say anything, just went on, "It was while I was acting as guard that Thor returned, and I...well, happened to overhear him recounting to Odin what was happening on Midgard. Specifically, what was happening to you." He nodded at Bruce.

Bruce was surprised to hear that Thor had returned to Asgard while he'd been in SHIELD's custody, but it made sense; the demigod surely would have had to report what had happened, since Loki had been involved. Still, it felt weird knowing that he'd been the subject of an inter-realm discussion.

"He was quite distraught about it, in fact, that my actions had brought such strife upon you. He was more distraught, though, that there was nothing to be done about it."

Loki smirked. "But, of course, he was wrong. As if that's particularly novel. No, there was _much_ that could be done about it." His smirk turned feral. "Which I am going to be more than happy to prove, in time."

That was all well and good—Bruce could see Loki getting involved in this to spite Thor—but he knew they still weren't at the heart of it. Taking down SHIELD would be nice, and annoying Thor would be a bonus. But _something_ had to have drawn Loki here—he'd indicated a few minutes ago that he didn't particularly care for Earth.

_You know why he's here. It's your fault, Banner. Stop acting like it's not, like you don't know that._

_Just accept it._

Mostly to quiet that voice (he didn't know how long he could listen to it without snapping), Bruce asked, "And that's it? That's why you're here?"

Loki gave Bruce a sharp look, and Bruce realized that had come out sounding an awful lot like an accusation. Since Loki believed he was stoned out of his mind at the moment, that probably seemed pretty damn out of character. So, reprimanding himself for his lapse, Bruce cast his eyes down and slumped his shoulders slightly. "I, um. It's just. Seems like a lot of work. Just to annoy Thor."

"Perhaps," Loki agreed. He gazed at Bruce levelly. "But you are correct. There's more to it. It is as I have said." He paused, and when he spoke again, Bruce got the distinct impression that, for once, Loki was being entirely, brutally honest. "I do not approve of torture. It is a disgusting, demeaning way for pathetic, inferior beings to impose their will on you."

Bruce could feel his eyebrows creeping up. It didn't exactly make a lot of sense, considering what Loki had wanted him to do to Locklear, but then...when did Loki get into the habit of making sense?

Loki accurately read the look on Bruce's face and smirked. "Ah. Yes. Well. There _are_ exceptions, of course. Nothing is ever truly black and white, yes? Superior beings can, if the need arises, play by a different set of rules. But SHIELD is full of maggots, scarcely fit to lick the dirt from your shoes. What they did, it cannot stand," Loki stated definitively, standing up. "My actions led to your ill treatment. Someone needs to put _them_ back in their place, to show them they have no right to act as they have." He glared down at Bruce. "Even if _you _cannot. Stark took the first step, of course, and I do owe him for that. But his vision is _far_ too narrow. He only sought your freedom, and that is inadequate, given what those cretins at SHIELD did. I will make them see their error. It is time someone did."

And there it was. The flat truth.

This _was_ Bruce's fault. The guilt welled up inside of him, nearly choking him.

Locklear's death, all of those ex-detainees who'd been killed for refusing to join up. Whatever Loki was still planning. All of this was because _he _was—

_Wait_. _Stop. Think. __**Calm down**_**.**

That voice sounded an awful lot like Tony.

_Is this really your fault?_

Yes. Obviously it was.

_No. It's not. You didn't want Loki to come here, you didn't want any of this. This is __**not your fault**_**. **_This is all Loki. _

_But—_

Bruce was tempted to scoff at himself, to keep arguing, but he restrained himself. He'd already been silent too long; Loki was shooting him a curious look, and Bruce knew that suspicion was likely only a few seconds away.

So he choked out, "You're going to take SHIELD down?"

After another beat of silence, Loki relaxed (_When did he get so tense?_) and answered easily, "More or less."

"Because they tortured me?" Might as well make sure, get an unequivocal answer.

Loki could apparently hear the incredulity in his voice. "Yes." Then, carelessly, he added, "Well. It does not hurt that I have more than adequate personal reasons for wanting them gone. It was an opportunity, as I said. To correct my actions and to address a lingering concern. A 'win-win' situation, as you might say."

Bruce wondered what had happened to Loki's moral compass that he apparently both felt some kind of guilt over what he'd caused to happen, and had decided that _this_ was the correct way to address that.

Or maybe there was just something about Bruce that screamed he'd be okay with this kind of thing.

_He's crazy. That's all. So don't think like that. You're not a monster and this isn't your fault._

"Banner," Loki prodded, and Bruce realized the demigod had been speaking during his reverie.

"Sorry, what?" Bruce asked, the dazed quality to his voice not entirely fabricated. He was, after all, trying to work through a _lot_.

_Trying to come up with excuses to free yourself from culpability._

_That's not true—this is on Loki, not me. _

_Yes. That's right._

Loki kept speaking, oblivious to Bruce's distraction, "I was asking if you would like to retire. Phase two of our operation begins tomorrow. It is sooner than I had planned, but things are moving more quickly now. Regardless, it would be best if you were well-rested."

It was only early afternoon, but Bruce wasn't going to argue. Not with Loki. "Yeah. That sounds...good."

Loki gestured for Bruce to stand. They made their way back outside and towards the cabins Loki had showed him earlier. Bruce was stumbling slightly, dragging his feet over the obviously hastily cleared ground, and the demigod shortened his stride to keep pace with Bruce without comment.

They did not speak, and Bruce was grateful for the silence. He felt like he'd used up all of his non-animosity for the day, hell, for the whole year, and he just wanted to get away from it all. From Loki, from the storm pounding in his head, from everything.

Just outside the cabins, Bruce tried to slip away, into the cabin Loki had indicated was going to be his.

Loki stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, though, and looked down at him with narrowed eyes. "I am extremely glad you have come to join our little movement, Banner. Though turning your back on those who left you to torture cannot have been hard for you."

Bruce was surprised for two reasons. First, apparently Loki didn't know that his friends had _tried_ to rescue him—Bruce hadn't wanted to be rescued. Or, if he did know about the foiled rescue, he'd disregarded it. Second, Bruce had _never_ looked at it from that angle—in his eyes, Tony had taken an insane amount of risks to get him out of SHIELD's custody. He didn't resent him, or any of the others, for what had happened to him. He still struggled with seeing it as 'torture,' of anything more than SHIELD doing what was necessary to protect themselves and the public at large from the monster inside of him. But from how Loki spoke, it seemed like the demigod took Bruce's resentment—his anger—for granted.

_Probably_, Bruce thought, _That's how he'd feel if it happened to him. And that's good. It makes him believe me._

"In any case," Loki said, "Now that you have joined us, I am _sure_ your...dedication...to our plan will not flag."

There was something undeniably threatening about the way Loki phrased that.

_Or maybe he doesn't believe me._

Bruce swallowed. "Of course not." And really, it couldn't. He was stuck here until this was over or until someone rescued him. If he tried to run, well, that could only end badly. Loki would likely have no trouble finding him again, what with the surveillance he had going.

_Unless you go somewhere he's not looking_.

That hadn't occurred to Bruce yet. Running. He could run. Away. Away from everyone, could go somewhere Loki wasn't going to find him.

Away from Manhattan. Away from his friends.

Away from the people who were going to get hurt because they were stupid enough to get close to him.

At one point, Bruce would have been able to make that decision easily. It wouldn't have even been a question. But now...it wasn't so easy. Now he didn't want to go. Even if it would solve all of his problems. Even if it was 'right.'

_Selfish_.

And...maybe it was. But...even as he knew that his selfish actions were going to lead to disaster...that little Tony-voice in his head was telling him that it was _okay._ Because, if nothing else...the real Tony would probably flip out if he knew Bruce was even considering it.

Unaware of the turn Bruce's thoughts had taken, Loki nodded succinctly. "In that case, I shall leave you to your rest. Your lodgings should be adequately stocked, but if you require anything, do let me know." He released his grip on Bruce's arm and swept away back towards the warehouse.

Bruce stood stock still for several heartbeats before he moved forward and let himself into the cabin.

Deep in his thoughts, he barely looked around as he made his way through the small building and towards what he assumed was the bedroom, where he threw himself onto the bed. He was, he decided, completely done with today. Done with thinking. With worrying.

He landed on top of something.

Rolling over, he pulled a folder out from underneath him. There was a sticky-note attached to it, on which someone had written in a graceful hand, 'For your perusal.'

The idea of Loki utilizing something as mundane as a sticky note was bizarre enough that it forced a small chuckle out of Bruce's dry throat.

His laughter died abruptly when he opened the folder and saw what it contained.

It was his file from SHIELD.

_What the hell? _

* * *

The hardest part of doing what Fury had instructed was that Tony was practically allergic to doing nothing.

It actually made him kind of itchy.

After they finished talking to the director and had dispersed to their different corners of the Tower for the night (except Natasha, who'd gone to sneak in to visit Clint at the hospital), Tony found himself with nothing to do. Logically, he knew he should sleep, but he was too wound up, too worried, too pissed off. And the idea of doing nothing while God-knows-what was happening to Bruce, well, that was kind of hard to stomach.

Still, Tony _tried _to rest. Being sleep deprived wasn't going to help anyone, and he knew he was going to need to be on top of his game for whatever was going to happen come morning.

His efforts weren't entirely fruitless. He managed almost four hours of fitful, agitated sleep before he gave up completely.

Not what he needed, but if it was all he was going to get...he'd take it.

It was thus just before 3 AM that he found himself back in his lab, leaning back in his chair, idly staring up at a computer monitor.

He was vaguely intending to find out who had been creeping around in his computer system, but now that he was there, he found he wasn't actually all that motivated. The damage was done. Whoever it was had gotten what they'd come for, after all, and Tony had patched the security hole that had allowed them access. And really, he already knew who it was, the Supervillain Superclub. Maybe not explicitly, as it was more likely one of their hired sycophants (none of their files had said anything about advanced computer skills), but did that matter?

He didn't really think so. But he was here, and he had time to kill, so Tony figured he might as well do _something_.

Doing nothing, after all, was unacceptable in this situation.

So, he tapped a couple of commands into the console, and soon he was looking at a readout of all the outside IP addresses that had attempted to access the system in the last twenty-four hours. There weren't many—not many people were stupid enough to try to hack Stark Industries—and Tony severely doubted that any of them would actually lead to his culprit. Still, he gave them a quick perusal.

Yeah, nothing useful. In fact, all he could really tell was that there were one or two idiots who thought they could go up against Tony Stark's system and come out on top. Oh, and that after nine months of surveillance, SHIELD had not yet given up their quest to gain access to his system.

Tony heaved an annoyed sigh. He'd kind of hoped that, since they were _supposedly _on the same team now, they'd quit with the Big Brother shit.

Evidently not.

Well, he'd put up with their bullshit for nine months with his usual good humor (mostly, he thought it was cute that they were trying) but now he was tired, and pissed off, and pretty damn frustrated at how SHIELD was handling things. He was, in a phrase, over it. And he had some pretty strong opinions about where Fury could stick his ridiculous paranoia.

So, thinking vaguely of shutting SHIELD's surveillance of his building down completely, Tony snuck into their surveillance network through a backdoor JARVIS had pointed out to him six months ago.

He noticed immediately that he wasn't alone in his infiltration.

As did the other party—they vanished so quickly Tony wasn't sure he'd actually seen them.

_Fuck that. You_'_re not _that _tired, you_ _know what you saw._

Someone—and Tony already had a pretty good idea who—had been hacking SHIELD. Someone had co-opted SHIELD's surveillance of his building.

"Damn it," Tony muttered, massaging his brow. "I've been _telling_ them to fix their security protocols for _months_."

_And now their incompetence has cost you_.

It was infuriating. Tony's system had been pretty tight—that _one flaw_ notwithstanding. But SHIELD's? Not so much. So anyone who wanted to know what was going on the Tower—in terms of comings and goings, at least—just had to hack _them_. And they'd get a 24/7 birdseye on the Tower in living color, all without having to be anywhere nearby.

And that sort of long-term surveillance—of SHIELD's surveillance—would have given them a good enough look at Tony's computer system to be able to find that _one flaw_ and exploit it.

All the while leaving Tony completely unaware of what was happening.

Somehow—and he wasn't entirely sure on the specifics—Tony managed to refrain from donning the suit and heading outside to blast the nondescript (yeah, not so much) surveillance van that had been parked outside his Tower for the better part of a year. He wasn't quite as successful avoiding his next choice of reaction, though; he stood up very, very calmly and then kicked his desk very, very hard.

It hurt. "Fuck!"

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, popping his head in the door.

Tony glared down at his foot, daring it to keep hurting. It didn't listen. "No. Yes. I'm fine." Right now, he wanted to blow something up. No. What he _really_ wanted was to talk to Bruce. He'd understand what Tony was ranting about, he'd sympathize with Tony's frustration.

But Bruce wasn't here. And Steve was. And he was hovering in that overly, excessively concerned way he did when he wasn't quite sure what needed to be done. To get him out of mother hen mode, Tony said, "Just musing on the _fucking idiocy_ of the _morons_ who work for SHIELD, is all."

From the look on Steve's face, Tony deduced that he hadn't actually succeeded in quelling mother hen mode at all. And really, that was probably a pointless endeavor, what with the situation with Bruce, so Tony admitted, "Look, we've got a serious problem."

"I figured," Steve replied levelly. "What's up?"

Tony started to pace, making a concerted effort to ignore the pain in his foot. "It's like this...wait a minute. Why are you here, anyway?"

Steve shrugged, settling into Tony's vacated chair. "Couldn't sleep. Figured you'd still be up."

Instead of pointing out that he'd actually gone to bed at one point (or suggesting that Steve get his ass out of his chair), Tony shrugged. "Fair enough. Okay, it's like this..."

He explained what was going on with the computers, doing his best not to get annoyed when he had to stop and explain basic things like 'IP address.' When he was done, Steve looked floored.

"They've been watching us this whole time?"

"I don't know about that," Tony answered. "But it's been long enough. They knew enough to get what they wanted, anyway, and that's what matters. Fucking SHIELD, _how_ could they be so damn clueless?"

"...Maybe they're not," Steve suggested, his tone dark.

Tony snapped his head up from where he'd been fiddling with a screwdriver. "What do you mean?"

"Well...what if they knew someone was watching them watch us?" Steve was hesitant, like he wasn't entirely sure what he was suggesting was possible.

It _was_ possible, though. "And you think they just let it happen?" Tony demanded. "Why would they do that?"

He already had an idea.

"Look," Steve hedged, backing off. "I'm not really sure how it works, but—"

"If they knew they'd been hacked...and didn't do anything about it..." Tony interrupted, thinking aloud, "Then they'd basically be setting us up for attack. You don't think—?" What he was about to suggest seemed awfully shady, even for SHIELD. But then... "Romanoff was saying that all of this worked out really well for Fury. Once Bruce got involved, _we_ got involved. He knows we'd do anything to get Bruce back...he knows we'd take out this whole Supervillain Superclub if we have to."

Steve narrowed his eyes, clearly not liking where this had gone. "You think SHIELD set us up to be attacked so they could be 100% positive that cleaning this whole thing up would fall on us and not them?"

Tony snorted. "Can't prove shit, I know. But doesn't it seem awfully...convenient? SHIELD's gotten a lot of shit since their 'methods' have been revealed. It hasn't been good for them, bad press and all that. If something goes wrong when they're trying to take care of this shit, it could be the end of the organization. But if _we_ do it? And we fuck up? Then it's on us." Tony took a breath. "_And_ when all of this is done, after this whole fucking mess is cleaned up...Fury has cause to arrest me and bring Bruce back into custody. It's a neat fucking package for him, isn't it? SHIELD looks good all around."

Steve clenched his fists. "That...it just doesn't..." he trailed off, looking helpless.

It _did_ seem awfully...nefarious. Crafty. And for Steve, who was expected to lead them, Tony could see where navigating something like this would be frustrating. Especially when there was so much at stake—they couldn't just tell Fury to shove this whole situation up his ass. No, they had to rescue Bruce—if they left that to SHIELD, they'd lock the physicist up faster than Tony could say 'due process.'

They had to rescue Bruce, which meant they had to play whatever game Fury was playing.

If he even _was_ playing a game. There might have just been some huge misunderstanding. Tony might just be paranoid, might be seeing schemes where none existed.

Right?

So, trying to reassure Steve (and, to some extent, himself), Tony said blandly, "We don't know anything for sure, though."

Steve shot him a humorless smile. "That's awfully optimistic for you."

It was true.

But wasn't that a sad example of 'optimism?'

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**Sorry about the delay between chapters; it's in large part due to my own indifference. Although I did bust my hand last week and had to type this more or less one-handed. Excuses, excuses, I know.**

**Please review, if you're so inclined. It'd make me happy. **


	14. Played

**Warnings: references to past torture, angst, Loki.**

**My beta, irite, is amazing and stops me from embarrassing myself when I write a section too fast.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Sprawled out on his back on his bed, Bruce looked at the file in his hands for several minutes. He examined the post-it note on the cover, and he turned the folder over several times, looking at each side in turn, searching for anything amiss. Then, finding nothing, he sighed and set the folder down beside him, closing his eyes.

He couldn't imagine what Loki had in mind with this, and he was _tired_ of trying to figure out what Loki was thinking. He'd said it once, he'd say it again—that guy's mind was a bag of cats. Keeping up with him had been exhausting enough, _would have been _exhausting enough, even without the added strain of trying to maintain the farce that he was medicated half out of his mind, _and _trying not to have an 'incident,' _and _trying not to get killed.

But Loki did not do things without reason, Bruce knew. And this seemingly-simple gesture was certainly no exception. If Loki had left this file here, he meant for Bruce to read it. Which meant that Bruce _had _to read it, if he wanted to keep up with the 'game.' He was, after all, supposed to be all 'team Loki,' which meant doing his bidding. More or less.

Anyway, Bruce rationalized, he'd meant to check out what SHIELD had on him. Had been meaning to for a little while. So he might as well just do what Loki wanted him to. Kill two birds with one stone.

Right?

So Bruce opened his eyes and reached for the folder, flipping it open again and holding it up in front of him.

The first page was his intake information, including a photograph. Not really the most attractive picture he'd ever taken, that was for sure, but in his defense, he'd barely been conscious for it. At least judging from how it looked—he didn't actually remember having his picture taken during intake, he'd been so drugged.

The next page was his discharge information, including a photograph. Still not the best picture ever, but at least he was looking at the camera, could clearly remember having had that photo done. Although, looking between the two of them, he could see that...damn, he'd lost weight in those nine months, hadn't he? The sharp angles of his face in the second photograph stood testament to that. In fact, it had been almost twenty pounds in nine months, according to the details on the page.

But then...as he remembered...he hadn't really been big on eating during his 'stay.'

Something in his stomach clenched, and he sat up, pulling his legs underneath him so that he was sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed. With a deep breath, he set the folder down in his lap and turned to the third page.

That was where the medical notes started, and they didn't paint a pretty picture. Especially of the first few days, where he hadn't been exactly...conscious. Apparently, at one point, Bruce was surprised to see, he'd been suffering from hypoxia in his extremities due to his low blood pressure. He didn't remember that, but he'd been pretty out of it in the beginning. Didn't remember much from those first few days.

Except being strapped to a bed. Tubes and wires.

A woman's cold voice.

Bruce's hand closed into a fist at his side, but he kept reading, entirely unaware of anything but the words in front of him.

By the time he was through the medical information, he'd decided that SHIELD had probably never heard of an Institutional Review Board. Or of ethics in general. No one should have approved this, no one should have gone along with it.

Except someone _had_. This had been signed off on by at least one person, probably two or three or...more. He flipped back through the pages and counted the signatures. A quick glance revealed at least four separate signatures at the bottom of the forms.

Which meant that multiple people had read this protocol, had reviewed the effects that this 'medication' was having on him...and had rubber stamped it. They'd seen what it was doing, how it was leaving him barely capable of doing anything more than drooling on himself, and they'd been okay with that.

Because they thought he deserved it.

But that was...wrong. No one deserved this. _No one_. Even if he had done...things... Even if he'd done the things they said he'd done...he didn't deserve what they'd done in return. They had imprisoned him in his own body, had turned him into scarcely more than an empty vessel. And it hadn't been necessary. There had to have been another way. He wasn't some monster, completely out of control, incapable of seeing reason or acting rationally. The last couple of hours had proven that, if Tony's month of pep talks hadn't.

Bruce didn't deserve what they'd done, but they'd done it anyway.

_Bastards._

That didn't even come close to encompassing it. Not even close.

But what could he do, except keep reading?

Bruce didn't notice his shoulders shaking as he turned the page to the beginning of the psychologist's notes.

Locklear's notes.

**Treatment Goal** read the top of the first page. **Acceptance of GMSS treatment; full and consensual compliance to treatment protocol. **

The insidious shaking in Bruce's shoulders became more pronounced, working down his arms, manifesting in a tremble at his fingertips.

Despite that, he kept reading.

**Other goals**, said the second line. There, jotted quickly and indifferently were, 'weight gain, enrichment of habitat—reduce apathy?'

_Habitat_? _Like I was an animal in a zoo, _Bruce fumed, his hands flat-out shaking.

Still, he made it through another half an hour of reading before things went...awry.

Going through Locklear's notes...he could see the logic behind what she'd been trying to do...and he could see how much it had relied on his own illogic. Could see how they'd manipulated him. Systematically. How they'd broken him down, had taken him to pieces while he was too vulnerable to _do_ anything about it, to even notice that it was being done. They had done truly disgusting things to him, and he had let them, because he'd thought it was _okay_ and no one had _stopped _them and—

It was infuriating.

And Bruce was. Furious. He was _furious_.

What they had done? It was inexcusable. It was horrible. It was beyond unethical.

And they'd just gotten away with it.

No one had stopped them.

Bruce felt something in his chest _snap_.

_Oh no—_

Then, a moment of clarity.

_(This is a test, you moron)_

_This is a test. Oh God, oh God, he's testing me with this and I—_

_(And you just failed)_

Everything went green.

And Bruce was gone.

* * *

Tony didn't know what time they'd gotten back, but at 6:30 AM, Natasha and Clint sauntered into the kitchen.

Well, Natasha sauntered. Clint made a valiant attempt, but he really just looked like he'd been whacked over the head recently—a state in which it is impossible to saunter. Tony would know.

Steve and Tony were already in the kitchen, sitting at the table in tense silence. Tony, tablet in hand, was still musing over what he'd found earlier, trying to figure out what it meant. Someone had been hacking SHIELD, using them to watch the Tower. And Tony suspected that SHIELD had known about it, had more or less set them up to be attacked.

It didn't look good.

He offered the assassins a tense nod as they both got themselves coffee and scrounged up breakfast. A few minutes later, Thor joined them, emptying what seemed like half the refrigerator onto a plate.

The three of them sat down at the table.

After a few bites of toast, Natasha casually asked, "What's wrong now?"

Tony looked up from his computer. "What?" He hadn't said anything. He thought he'd been doing a pretty good job at a 'blank expression,' actually.

Clint rolled his eyes, setting his coffee cup down. "You're brooding. And Rogers looks like someone kicked his puppy."

"Pretty much," Natasha agreed. "So spill."

Tony sighed. Evidently, his blank expression needed some work. "Okay, so... a couple of hours ago, I noticed that someone's been watching SHIELD watch us." He paused before he added, "And I think SHIELD's been letting them."

Natasha pursed her lips. "Explain."

So Tony did.

When he was finished, Clint gave a low whistle. "Damn. That...sucks."

It was pretty much the most astute summary Tony could have hoped for.

After a moment of silence, Thor asked, "If SHIELD knew they were being watched by an outside party...am I to understand from this that SHIELD intended for Dr. Banner to be taken?"

Steve nodded. "That's what we think."

Thor frowned. "This level of deception is..."

"Excessive?" Tony suggested. "Ridiculous? Unbelievable?" He kind of felt the same way, but couldn't deny that it made _sense_. "I don't like it either, but if you think about it...it's turning a bad situation into one that can only work to SHIELD's advantage. And they need to cover their asses, now that everyone knows what they've been up to."

"Wish we'd known about this before we'd agreed to work with them, though," Steve muttered, looking glum.

Natasha held up a finger. "Hold on. We don't know for sure that's what's going on. And even if it _is_, we can still turn this around to our advantage. Or at least, we can spoil Fury's master plan."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Oh? 'Cause it looks to me like Fury's got us by the balls on this one. We want to get Bruce, so we're going to do whatever it takes. Including cleaning up the Supervillain Superclub, if we have to."

"If we have to," Natasha countered. "What if we can get Bruce back without doing that?"

Tony cocked his head to one side. "You mean, like...?"

"Skip the big battle between good and evil. We find Bruce, we extract him, we leave the rest for SHIELD."

"Do you think we could, though?" Tony started. It was an attractive idea. "I mean—"

Steve interrupted, "I don't know about that. These are bad people, and if we just let them walk—"

"Because SHIELD's really the 'good' guys here, Rogers, Jesus," Tony interjected. "Don't even go there."

"I'm not saying they're the good guys," Steve said patiently. "I'm just saying it's irresponsible to let these guys, I don't know, get a free pass. You might have forgotten, but we _are_ a part of the government, even if we're not a part of SHIELD, and we have a responsibility—"

"Good God, stop, I get it," Tony snarked. Natasha, he noted, had the decency to look at least as irritated as he felt. "We need to save the world whenever it needs to be saved, fine. But that means we're marching to Fury's drums for now. You okay with that?"

Steve shook his head, sighing. "No."

After a few seconds of silence, Clint shrugged. "Not to seem, like, irrationally optimistic here, but we've got a demigod, a supersoldier, a genius, and Nat. I'm not too dumb, either. I'd like to think between us, we'd be able to come up with _something_. But then, I did just suffer head trauma less than a day ago, so..."

Surprisingly, it was Thor who backed him up. "Barton is right. I do not like being manipulated." Tony had to smirk—given what his brother had done in the last few years, he'd _bet_ Thor didn't like being manipulated.

The demigod continued, "We can, I am certain, find some way around this scheme."

Now Tony was starting to get into the mood. He was a problem solver, and he _loved_ to screw with people, so this was right up his alley. Sure, Fury might have made the first move. And the second. But that didn't mean he was going to win, that they just had to do what he'd planned out for them like good little minions.

So he leaned forward conspiratorially. "Guys, Rapunzel is right. We're way smarter than Fury. And I'll be damned if I'm going to be outmaneuvered by someone in the public sector. So we need a way to find Bruce, save the world, and fuck Fury in the process. Suggestions? 'Cause we've got maybe an hour until Fury gives us our 'orders' and I'd like to have something to work with before then."

Everyone looked at each other in silence for several seconds before Clint suggested, "We could start by telling SHIELD where they can stuff it, then work from there?"

Tony nodded. "Maybe a little more confrontational than I was thinking, but I like the way you think, Legolas."

Steve, Natasha, and Thor exchanged a long, weary look.

* * *

When Bruce woke up, there were two things that surprised him.

First, he was on a bed.

Second, he was not alone.

He should have been alone. In the forest. Or lying in a pile of rubble somewhere. That's just how this went down. He transformed, he woke up alone. But no, he wasn't alone—he could hear the soft exhales of another person nearby.

Bruce sat up, joints groaning, cracking his eyes open slowly. The only light in the room came from a lamp on the table next to the bed, and even though it was on its dimmest setting, it still stabbed Bruce in the eyes. He clenched them shut again.

"I am sorry, Banner, but I cannot make it any less bright. I _can_ make it more bright, though." The lights brightened, striking straight into Bruce's skull even behind his closed eyelids.

_Ugh_.

He wasn't alone, no. He just wished he was.

Loki sounded pissed. And was being a snot.

This was just too good to be true.

Momentary snarkiness aside, Bruce was becoming aware of exactly how screwed he was. He remembered reading his file, he remembered getting _angry_. And that was bad enough—he never should have let that happen. How many people had he hurt? Killed? He hadn't had an 'incident' in ten months, almost a year, and he'd _thought_ he'd be able to control himself. He'd been wrong, though. He'd been wrong about it all. SHIELD was right, he _was_ a monster, and—

_Woah there, Banner_.

As tempting as it was to go down that road, he wasn't quite sure that was rational—the Tony-voice in his head was objecting pretty strongly, stomping its feet and screaming, actually. So, it wasn't rational. Or helpful. And neither was thinking so black-and-white. Yeah, he'd lost it. And that sucked. But the day he'd been having...would anyone really blame him?

And he didn't know what had happened. He didn't know if anyone had been hurt in his latest...mishap. So before he went all self-loathing (the Tony-voice in his head instructed) it'd probably be a good idea to figure out what the hell had happened.

Bruce forced his eyes open again, taking in his surroundings. He was dismayed to see that his clothes hadn't survived his transformation, but at least someone (and _please_ let it have been anyone but Loki) had put him in boxers.

And that was all.

The clock next to the bed said it was just after 6:00 AM, and the demigod next to the bed said it was probably time to get the hell out of here.

Loki looked...murderous. He was leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed casually over the other, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His relaxed demeanor, though, did not extend to his face; he had fixed Bruce with a cold, angry glare, all traces of the patience and relative friendliness he'd exhibited until now gone.

When Loki saw that Bruce's gaze was on him, that he had Bruce's full attention, he said icily, "It seems you have been dishonest with me, Dr. Banner. I had suspected it, of course; I am not an idiot, no matter what you may take me for. Your behavior since your arrival has been erratic, to say the least. I figured one more small test was in order."

Bruce tried to answer, to say something in his own defense, something to mitigate this, but his mouth was bone-dry. He cleared his throat. "Loki—"

But Loki wasn't done. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, tossing something onto the bed next to Bruce. It was the SHIELD bracelet.

Bruce did not even attempt to move to pick it up. If he'd forgotten even for a second how dangerous Loki was, well, he was pretty clear on it now.

After a moment, Loki growled, "Either that...female was grossly overestimating the effects of this concoction, Banner, or this device does not actually contain what she said it did. Or it contains nothing at all." He looked up at Bruce. "Which is it?"

"It's..." Bruce started, but then stopped and licked his lips. He'd known this was probably going to happen—Loki was whip-smart, wasn't someone you could fool easily—but he'd been too busy trying to keep it together that he hadn't really planned out what he'd do in this situation.

"Tell me!" Loki demanded.

He hadn't planned what he'd do in this situation, and now it looked like he wasn't going to get the opportunity to.

Honesty it was, then. Bruce cleared his throat again. "It's, um. It's not GMSS in the bracelet. It's something Tony came up with."

Loki settled back, looking at Bruce contemplatively. "I see. And what does it do?"

Bruce answered, a little testily, "Nothing? Look, all it does is _look like_ GMSS. That's its entire purpose, to fool SHIELD into thinking—"

"Into thinking that you're being a good little boy, yes? Doing as you're told. But you're not."

Bruce shook his head.

Suddenly, Loki chuckled. "Oh, Banner. I would not have thought you capable of it."

"Capable of what?" Bruce asked cautiously. The way Loki was looking at him...was not comforting. It was an abrupt change from the cold rage of a moment ago, yeah, but that didn't make it _better_. In fact, it might a little worse. Because anger was predictable. This? Not so much.

Loki shrugged. "The deception. Of SHIELD. Of me. But mostly? I would not have thought you capable of putting so many innocent people in danger. It is...monstrous."

_Ouch_.

It was something he'd struggled with. Something he'd really, really struggled with. Something he was _still_ struggling with, if he was honest with himself. The idea that he was dangerous, that by just existing he was posing a threat to everyone around him. The idea that he should do anything and everything within his power to minimize that damage, including engaging in activities that directly or indirectly caused himself harm. That he should allow himself to be effectually imprisoned for the sake of safety.

Going against that—especially after SHIELD had ingrained it into him (and oh, they had, and it made him see red)—was still so hard, still seemed so _dangerous_ and _stupid_, and the only thing standing between him and retreat had been, for the last month, his friends' insistence that SHIELD had been wrong. That _he_ had been wrong. 'Irrational.'

And now all he had was the memory of what they'd said, and a voice of reason that sounded an awful lot like Tony—

_How screwed are you when your voice of reason is __**Tony Stark**__?_

—so hearing Loki say it, say that _word_, stung.

But Bruce wasn't going to give in so easily. He was done with that. He'd read the file (well...enough of it, anyway) and he'd seen how SHIELD had done what they'd done to him. And while it didn't _eliminate_ the doubts, the fears, the ever-present self-loathing...reading what had been done to him, seeing the logic...helped him be more logical about it, too. He could take a step back, could see clearly how he'd been manipulated, and he wasn't going to let Loki do the same thing.

And yet...at the same time...he was at a dangerous precipice. Loki knew he'd been faking. Lying. The demigod was angry, something made especially obvious by the vicious swipe he'd just taken at Bruce's soft underbelly. And Bruce was still missing a lot of crucial information—for example, how had he gotten here, wherever 'here' was? What had happened after he'd 'Hulked Out?' Was Loki going to attack him? Kill him? It didn't seem likely, if he hadn't yet. But if Bruce knew one thing, it was to not underestimate the God of Mischief.

Which he'd clearly been doing.

"The farce is no longer necessary, Banner, I know you possess your full faculties," Loki said smoothly, thereby informing Bruce that he had taken too long in forming a reply.

Like Bruce knew what to say when being accused of being a monster.

Oh, wait. He did. He'd heard it coming from Tony enough in the last month that he could recite it ad nauseum.

"I'm not a monster. And I'm not endangering people. I have control—"

Loki scoffed. "Indeed. So we have seen. I am sorry to inform you of this, Banner, but it was not your 'control' that averted disaster and saved the lives of innumerable people yesterday evening. No, that was _me_. Do not speak to me about your 'control.' I did not see control. I saw the beast."

Hmm. Hulk had gone head to head with Loki, and Loki had come out on top. But Bruce was still here. Loki hadn't killed him. Either it had been intentional, or Loki had discovered that—even if he possessed the ability to alter the fabric of reality around him—Hulk was unkillable.

Given the way Loki was sitting by his bed, Bruce was willing to bet it had been intentional.

Also, from what Loki had said, Bruce thought it was safe to assume that he was probably still in Loki's forest compound; it was unlikely the demigod had transported him somewhere else. But that meant...

"Where am I?" Bruce asked suddenly.

Loki raised an eyebrow at the abrupt change in subject, but answered, "Where you were before, Banner."

"But...I transformed. The cabin—"

"Oh, that cabin was a total loss. No, this is my...humble abode."

Bruce blanched—it was what he'd thought. He was in Loki's bed.

Awkward.

Also, this meant that Loki had figured out he was lying, had goaded him into transforming, had taken down the Hulk, and had then put Bruce to bed.

_What the hell does that mean? What's he playing at?_

As if reading Bruce's mind, Loki smirked. Standing, he said, "Your reaction to the reading material I left you indicated that you've a fair amount of unresolved aggression towards those who mistreated you so egregiously." He stretched, then fixed Bruce with a piercing look. "You cannot lie about that."

_No, _Bruce thought. _I really can't_. His feelings towards SHIELD, now that he'd faced them (or been overwhelmed by them) were something he couldn't deny. And his reaction to his own file had pretty much obliterated any chance of pretending he didn't care about what they'd done to him.

Casually edging towards the door, Loki continued, "Perhaps I am mistaken about your motives for being here...or perhaps _you_ are. But in either case, you are _fascinating_, Banner." He stopped in front of the door and grinned over his shoulder at Bruce. "You pose no threat to me, rest assured of that. And you _will _accompany me and my forces to SHIELD." Confident, absolute. "So whether you intend to _aid_ me or not, well, I shall rather enjoy watching whatever you opt to do once you get there." He opened the door and tossed over his shoulder, "You might want to consider dressing; we depart at noon, and it is considered improper to be seen in your undergarments."

And then he was gone.

Leaving about a thousand unanswered questions in his wake, and no matter how often that happened, Bruce never found it any less frustrating.

For a moment, he sat, dazed, before reaching over and picking up the SHIELD bracelet. Turning it over in his hands, he could see that it didn't look any worse for wear—it had unbuckled during the transformation, had just fallen off. After considering a moment longer, he made sure the cartridge inside hadn't been damaged and then slipped the bracelet back on. He didn't like it—hated it, in fact—but he wasn't sure about withdrawal, or any other consequences of not having _something_ binding to those receptor sites. And now wasn't the time to risk it.

He was in way too deep for that.

As it stood right now, Loki knew that he'd been lying about the GMSS at least. But the rest of it? About wanting to help him, about wanting to get back at SHIELD? Loki couldn't know for sure that had been a lie, and—

_Was it a lie, Banner?_

Of course it had been. Because he wasn't like that. He wasn't violent, and SHIELD wasn't to blame—

He couldn't even finish the thought without rolling his eyes, without feeling an overwhelmingly hot, nauseating disbelief at himself.

And anger. At SHIELD.

_Things have changed_.

What Loki had said...that maybe Bruce didn't know his own motives for being here...that was bullshit, right?

_Isn't it?_

Why did Bruce feel like Loki had been playing him way, way better than he'd been playing Loki?

* * *

**Thanks for reading.**

**Review if you're so inclined.**


	15. The Silence Before the Storm

**Warnings: language, probably. **

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for helping with the bits of this that were less than clear.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Fury called at 7:38 AM, and they were ready for him.

Well, more or less.

They had (albeit grudgingly) agreed to a _plan_.

For forty-five minutes, they'd talked about it, and they'd argued about it, and they'd threatened each other while trying to endorse their preferred option, but Steve made peace and they went back to talking.

Tensely.

Finally, around 7:15 AM, after they'd hashed it out so much that even _his_ head was beginning to spin, Tony ground out, "Okay, so we're all on the same page here, right?"

"No," Natasha snapped. "But you're going to do whatever the hell you want regardless, so yeah, I'll go along with your stupid idea. Not like there's a better choice."

Tony tried not to be too offended; it _was_ a stupid idea.

The problem was that, though they suspected Fury had been manipulating them from the start, or at least, since the Supervillain Superclub had made Bruce their next target, the Avengers couldn't actually prove anything. It certainly _looked_ like SHIELD had intended for Bruce to be kidnapped, and no one could deny that having the Avengers clean up SHIELD's mess was quite convenient (for SHIELD, anyway), but that was all they had: suspicion. And blatantly accusing the director of SHIELD of doing something super shady (and quite possibly illegal) without any conclusive proof was a good way to land in hot water.

As Fury had shown, he was damn crafty. And not above much. Staying well off his radar would be a definite advantage.

So, really, the ideal situation (at least according to Natasha, who would always prefer a covert solution over something stupidly reckless) would be to pretend like they knew nothing until they _did_ know something, and _then_ expose SHIELD after the fact, once they were good and clear of any repercussions.

That wasn't going to work. They didn't have the time for it, for information gathering, for making (another) case against SHIELD. Not with Bruce in potential danger. And not with the Supervillain Superclub threatening SHIELD and, by proxy, the rest of the damn world.

When Natasha's idea got shot down (and even she had to grudgingly admit they didn't have enough time for it), Thor proposed, "Do we even need SHIELD at all? Could we not stop this threat to Dr. Banner and to the rest of this world without their aid? For it was we who stood against the Chitauri, not them. They do not have our might."

"That's true, big guy," Tony agreed, "But in this case, they've got us by the uh, short and curlies." Thor looked momentarily perplexed at the idiom before understanding dawned across his face. Tony nodded and continued, "They have the information. They know more than we do. So we need them. At least...we need them for now..."

And that's where the stupid idea was spawned.

It wasn't complicated. It was actually ridiculously simple. And Tony hoped (though he doubted) that this simplicity would stop Fury from noticing anything was happening, at least until they were far enough away that Fury couldn't stop them.

They needed information. They needed to know where to go and what (or _who_) to expect when they got there. Fury had said he had surveillance going; from their conversation the previous night, it sounded like Fury was going to gather up everything he had in terms of data and reports from his teams and then send the Avengers in based on that. Tony personally wouldn't put it past Fury to know _exactly_ what the Supervillain Superclub was doing and where. He figured Fury had been watching them since they started whatever it was they were up to, had just been waiting for them to make the first move. He'd already said that SHIELD been hoping to coax the group out of hiding (which Tony had kind of screwed up for them...but that's what they got for being so damn secretive).

So Fury was going to tell them where they needed to go and who they were going to be facing, along with how they were armed.

And they'd go and deal with the situation.

And that was going to be the last 'order' they ever took from SHIELD.

At least for this particular mission—Tony had no doubt that this 'collaboration' might very well lead to future collaborations (if it didn't lead to his imprisonment, that is, or some kind of civil war), but that was something that they were going to have to negotiate later. For now, they just needed to know where to find these guys so they could stop them and get Bruce back. And _maybe_ ship him to a non-extradition country.

With Tony.

Maybe.

Basically, what the stupid plan amounted to was that the Avengers were going to milk Fury for information, then take things into their own hands, get things done their way. Hopefully, 'taking things into their own hands' would look enough like 'following Fury's orders' that the director wouldn't notice anything was seriously amiss, at least (Tony hoped) until after they'd at least gotten Bruce back. It was a stretch, but it didn't seem entirely unlikely—the Avengers were planning on neutralizing the Supervillain Superclub, after all, and probably the only way their ultimate goals seriously differed from Fury's had to do with how Bruce was going to be handled.

Anyway, no one was particularly thrilled with this plan—Steve wanted to go the full cooperation route (he thought it would be easier, thought that the underhanded means didn't fit with what the Avengers were supposed to be, that is, transparent) and Natasha wanted to go with the full-covert option (because that was the only way she thought they had a chance of getting through this without ending up on the government's hit list). Clint tended to agree with Natasha ("Not that I'm against telling SHIELD to fuck off, just, you know...I like being alive"). Thor, at least, seemed to stand behind the plan, viewing it as a decent way to achieve their objective—and what else mattered beyond that?

So...one out of the five of them was ready to go forward with this. Maybe even one and a half, counting Tony. Thirty percent. That wasn't so bad. Tony had worked with less support than that.

The plan wasn't _just_ to let SHIELD tell them where to go and then tell them to fuck off. They had discussed a fair bit about making sure that they'd get all the information they needed, about making sure Fury wasn't fucking with them. There were a few hastily-drawn up ideas about how to avoid Fury's, well, fury after the fact—although Tony was reasonably sure he was going to be a fugitive afterwards, regardless of how this went down.

Whatever. It was going to be worth it. He had been willing to give up everything back when Bruce had been detained, nothing had changed in the time since then.

Tony always _was_ willing to go down in flames, if it was for a good cause.

Still, with 30% support for an admittedly stupid plan, it was a tense twenty minute wait for Fury's call as Steve stood still, fretting, Clint sat next to Tony (Natasha had pinned him with a glare when he'd tried to get up and move around), and Natasha and Thor prowled around the perimeter of Tony's lab. The tension was so much that when Tony was notified of the incoming video call, he was actually relieved.

He snapped to attention and whirled around in his chair, clicking the call open before promptly fading into the background. Or at least attempting to. He was going to let Steve take the lead on this (he was always more than willing to let Steve slip into 'Captain' mode when communicating with anyone in the government—especially with SHIELD), and hope that the supersoldier's disapproval of what they were going to do wouldn't bleed over into this conversation. Tony didn't figure it would; Steve, for all his boyscout, goody-goody tendencies, could always do what he needed to do to get the job done. Even if he personally disapproved of it.

"Director," Steve greeted Fury, pushing up to the front of the group as Tony made his way to the back and Natasha and Thor moved to stand flanking Clint.

"Rogers," Fury replied, staring down at them, clearly enjoying the vantage point. Tony made a note to install screens at a lower level specifically for communicating with people he wanted to condescend to.

Steve nodded to acknowledge the greeting. "What do you have for us?"

"Coordinates," Fury answered shortly. "We believe that this location is their base of operations, judging from the huge amount of recent electrical activity in the area. There's an old lumber processing facility out that way that they could be using. I need you to go in and check it out. Clean up what you find."

Tony felt his jaw tense at the definite 'command' tone to Fury's voice. But this exchange was going about how they'd planned, and he couldn't, wouldn't, do anything to fuck it up.

Steve stuck to the script. "Sure. But we're going to need some more information."

Fury narrowed his eyes. "What the hell for? This is cut-and-dried—"

"No, sir, it's really not," Natasha interjected, leaning forward. "What are we going to find there? What kind of defenses are we looking at? What are they trying to do?"

Thor interjected, "Who is leading these people?"

Clint added, "And do you really expect us to believe that you're just going to let us go in, all by ourselves, to take care of this mess? You always have a contingency plan. I _was_ one for too long to not know that."

"Like you're just going to let us go in, kill all the bad guys, and take Bruce home with us," Tony called out from the other side of the room where he had been attempting to hide behind his cold, empty coffee cup.

For a moment, Fury's eyes flashed, and Tony worried that he'd overstepped things, that he'd gotten too confrontational. Too accusatory. Might have blown their 'cover.'

Then Fury said, "Damn right I have a contingency plan. But that is none of your damn business, you don't work for me—"

"Exactly, director," Steve pointed out. "We're not your pawns. You can't just order us around. We're doing this on our terms or not at all."

This was a bluff, of course; Captain Fucking America had already established that he couldn't possibly just leave SHIELD to fend for themselves. As annoying as it was, he felt they had a duty to help, and Tony had to admit (grudgingly, of course) that Steve had a point. But the threat of having them back out...that was about the only thing that they'd figured could get Fury to budge and give them the details they wanted.

Tony had been worried that Steve might not be able to pull the bluff off, but he was completely convincing, and Fury glared down at them for almost ten seconds in silence before he growled, "I'll send you a copy of the damn mission plans. You're probably not going to like them, but tough shit. Get your asses here ASAP, we're moving out at 9:00." He moved to end the call before adding, "And Stark?" Tony looked up at the monitor. "'Kill' all the 'bad guys' you want—that's on you assholes—but don't get any bright ideas about taking Banner _anywhere_ but back to SHIELD when you're done. 'Cause soon as this is over, you're both in deep shit."

The screen went black.

It wasn't the most professional way to end a call, but Tony figured that they'd kind of gotten past the point of 'professional' a long time ago. And he bristled at Fury's words—because he'd be damned if he'd just hand Bruce back over to SHIELD—but before he could say as much (with a few expletives thrown in for good measure), Thor spoke up, looking perplexed.

"What does Fury mean?"

Tony gave him a look that clearly said 'are you fucking stupid.' "He means that he's expecting us to hand over Bruce, if we find him. And we _will _find him. But I'll be damned—"

Before he could rev up into full rant mode, Thor interrupted, this time giving _Tony _the 'you must be fucking stupid' look. "Yes, I understand that. But what he said before...about killing. Did that not seem odd to you?"

Well, Tony had been too focused on not fucking anything up during the conversation, so it hadn't. But replaying the conversation in his mind, he could have smacked himself on the forehead. _Wow, Stark, really using that genius intellect, aren't you? _"He means—"

Natasha cut him off. Darkly, she explained, "Fury's referring to the fact that we, as non—SHIELD operatives, can kill as many people as we want, because it won't reflect badly on SHIELD. It'll just reflect badly on us. Remember, these are _people_ we're dealing with. People who've been treated really badly by the government. People who'll garner a lot of sympathy if we just _exterminate _them. And since we're the ones who brought this whole mess to the public's attention in the first place, it looks doubly worse." She looked up at the others. "We're supposed to be humane, guys, that's one of the _things_ that came out of this whole mess, and—"

Clint took over for her. "And Fury's expecting that this op is going to have a huge casualty list. It sounds like he's _counting_ on it, actually."

Tony began to pace, quickly processing what this meant. "So that pretty much confirms it, doesn't it? That he's been fucking with us? Of course he wants us to take care of this problem—we kill a couple hundred people, that's not _his_ problem, it's ours, and SHIELD gets a gold fucking star for swooping in and saving the day after all the dirty work is done. This is _bullshit_, and we're just going to let him get away with it, aren't we?" He kicked the same desk that he'd kicked earlier with the same foot he'd used. "Damn it! That fucking _hurts!_"

Calmly, Steve advised him, "You really need to stop doing that." Before Tony could snap something undoubtedly cutting and witty (he was leaning towards 'fuck you'), the supersoldier said, "Yeah, we're going to let him get away with it. For now. We have a job we need to do, people we need to keep safe, and we can't let ourselves get distracted by something that we can't _do_ anything about. And we have more important things to worry about."

Tony would argue that there were quite a few things they could do about this problem—he had the designs for one hell of a missile saved on his hard drive and Fury's bald head would make for a great target—but he tersely conceded the point. "Fine. You're right. We need to figure out what we're going to do with Bruce. And me. Because Mexico is looking more and more likely, but I just don't _do _third-world countries. Second world. Whatever the fuck it is."

Natasha walked by, having resumed her slow circuits around the room, and slapped him in the back of the head. "Shut it, Stark, and get your shit together. And check your messages for those mission plans. I want to take a look before we head out."

Tony rubbed the back of his head, then sighed. "Whatever. Yeah. Let's meet up in the garage in half an hour. That good?"

Everyone nodded and dispersed towards the elevator.

Tony, left alone in his workshop, did as Natasha had instructed and checked his messages. As promised, Fury had delivered a copy of the mission plan. There was still some possibility that this wasn't the 'real' mission plan, but Tony didn't think Fury had had enough time to throw something plausible together, so he was going to have to trust it. Since for him 'getting his shit together' took about ten seconds (putting the suit on wasn't exactly a time-consuming endeavor...plus he was taking a more portable version with him) he gave the plan a quick once over.

Fury was right; Tony didn't like it.

First, because the asshole _just_ sent the schematics of who was going to be where. There was nothing about who they were facing.

And, more troubling, because there was supposed to be a backup team involved, armed with SHIELD's special Hulkicide, ready to take Bruce down if the Avengers didn't seem inclined to do it.

At least that proved that this was the real plan—Tony liked to think Fury was bright enough not to include something like that in a fake plan—but now Tony was pissed off _and_ had to think of a way to ditch their backup.

Grumbling, Tony grabbed his gear and headed down to the garage.

The ride to SHIELD was tense. And crowded. With the five of them and all their gear, it was a tight fit, but they made it work. Since he'd read the plans already, Tony drove, leaving the others to peruse what SHIELD had sent over.

After a few minutes, Natasha spoke up, "I suppose I could just mace the backup team. Or Clint could tranq them."

In the rearview mirror, Tony saw Clint shrug. "Yeah, I could do that. I have the darts. But then I'll be going with Stark and Banner to Mexico." He paused. "That might not be so bad. Might be able to get a decent margarita."

To Tony's surprise, Steve didn't say something disapproving. He just agreed, "We need to do _something_ about them."

"I do not think it will be much of a challenge to dispose of them," Thor said.

Tony considered pointing out that, to Thor, disposing of _anyone_ was not likely to pose much of a problem. Instead, he went with, "Well, we can't really 'dispose' of them, remember. _Indispose_ maybe, but they're just people, Rapunzel. SHIELD-issue idiots, but people. And this might be harder than you think—we're going to be up against God knows what." _Well, Fury knows. But that asshole isn't telling_.

That shut everyone up, whether it was because they were surprised by Tony's pessimistic stance, or just didn't have anything else to say, he didn't know.

They didn't speak again until they were parked at SHIELD, and Tony looked around the vehicle. "You guys ready to do this?"

Their answering nods were affirmative...but maybe not exactly confident.

Tony sighed—he felt the same way.

* * *

In the bathroom of Loki's cabin, Bruce splashed cold water on his face, trying to snap himself out of the daze of 'what the hell is going on' that he'd been in since Loki's departure. He'd been attempting to do this for almost an hour, and had so far met with limited success.

The demigod had pretty much come out and directly stated that he knew Bruce had been faking his allegiance all along, that he knew Bruce didn't really want to be here. And instead of killing him (which he could probably do) or _anything_, Loki had just left. Had told Bruce that they were going to move out at noon regardless of the physicist's true intentions. Because he wanted to see what Bruce was going to do when presented with the opportunity for revenge against SHIELD.

What SHIELD had done... It wasn't something Bruce wanted to think about. It was something he _hadn't _thought about, until Loki had backhanded him across the face with it. Had made Bruce see what SHIELD had done. And Bruce had been in denial, maybe, yeah, he could accept that. He'd thought 'I won't think about this' was a suitable stand-in for 'I don't need to think about this' and he'd gotten along just fine that way for _months_...but not anymore. Because now that he'd seen clearly, rationally, what SHIELD had done to him...he couldn't not think about it anymore.

It made him angry. So angry. Even now, with everything going on around him—the oncoming attack on SHIELD, the murders Loki had committed to bring him here, the knowledge that Loki's whole _plan_ had centered around bringing an enlightened Bruce back into contact with SHIELD...even knowing all that, knowing he had to stay _calm_...he was still angry. The rage simmered under his skin, knowing what they had done, knowing how carefully SHIELD and their twisted 'scientists' had taken him apart, how they'd used his past and his own sick self-image to build him into exactly what they wanted—a wreck of a man who would not even dream of fighting the chains with which they'd bound him. Because they had no chance of holding him otherwise.

And he was trying—God, was he trying—to stay calm. The costs of letting go were too high, and he'd already failed once. Loki—of all people—had taken the Other Guy down, had kept the other people at this little compound safe. He couldn't fail again, but he didn't know if he could hold it together, if he got to SHIELD and saw the people who had—

_Don't think about it_.

Except that didn't work anymore. And he couldn't stop thinking about it.

At least...if one good thing came out of this mess...Bruce had clarity. He could see. Sober, with a scientist's eyes, he'd looked at his treatment 'protocol' and he knew it was bullshit. He could see how much it had depended on him _hating_ himself.

It wasn't a panacea...it didn't magically fix everything (because 'knowing' and 'understanding' are so often separate) but now Bruce was finally able to see, objectively, what Tony had been telling him all along.

He didn't deserve what had happened to him. He wasn't a monster.

Really, though, that didn't fix a whole lot. Because right now, Bruce had plenty more pressing problems. One, he had just a bit more than four hours until they were going to launch an attack on SHIELD—and with teleporters on their team, that meant it was going to be a bit more than four hours until they were _at _SHIELD. Two, he was at the mercy of a psychopath with more or less unlimited powers, who had no qualms at all about indiscriminate murder. And three...he was starving.

That, at least, he could do something about. Mentally kicking himself for his own abject _uselessness,_ Bruce wandered out of the bathroom and began looking for something to wear. Loki had insinuated that he'd be able to find some kind of clothing here, so Bruce dug through the drawers and closets until he'd come up with a shirt, pants, and shoes that, though not exactly comfortable, covered all of the bits of him that needed to be covered.

Bruce was used to awkward, ill-fitting clothes anyway.

That accomplished, he slowly opened the door of the cabin, looking out into the bright, sunny compound. Things were bustling this morning, with people running to and fro...most of them with guns. Stepping outside, Bruce cast a quick look at the cabin he'd initially been assigned to. It was, as Loki had said, a complete loss. Most of the remaining pieces weren't even suitable for matchsticks.

None of the people working seemed inclined to talk to Bruce. In fact, they actively avoided him, casting fearful looks whenever they accidentally made eye contact. This wasn't unusual—it was the normal response for people who knew what Bruce was—but seeing it on such a large scale was nonetheless disconcerting.

Not knowing where else to go, Bruce made his way towards what had seemed like Loki's 'command center,' the cellar area underneath the warehouse.

As he'd expected, Loki was there, looming over his minions and giving the most sarcastic, condescending orders that Bruce had ever heard. And after some of his previous experiences (Ross sprang to mind), that took some serious doing.

When Loki noticed Bruce, he greeted him casually with, "Banner. You look better than you did earlier this morning. And certainly better than you looked yesterday afternoon. Do you require something?" He, of course, made no reference to their earlier conversation.

So Bruce played along, acted casual, pretended that Loki wasn't holding him captive for his own nefarious purposes. He simultaneously pretended not to notice how the blood drained out of the faces of almost every person in the room at his entrance. Bruce just answered Loki, "Actually...I'm kind of hungry." It was an understatement. He was actually approaching a level of hunger that could result in him eating his own arm. But Loki didn't need to know that.

Apparently, though, Loki _did_ know that, if his smirk was anything to go by. With a raised eyebrow, he mused, "Indeed. Well, one can usually find something consumable in the large tent at the edge of camp...a sort of 'mess hall' if you will. It is not exactly...cuisine, but it may satisfy." He turned back to the screen he'd been looking at.

Summarily dismissed, Bruce made his way back towards the stairs.

Just as he was about to start climbing, Loki called to his back, "And Banner, don't think of attempting to abandon our little organization. At this point, I think that would be most ill advised. Not many would welcome you with open arms...not after your defection from your friends. And especially after your little...incident yesterday. Your list of allies is growing short, indeed."

Bruce didn't even answer, too busy clamping down on the wave of irritation that sprang into life at Loki's words. It wasn't like he could _forget_ that he'd probably put himself right back on SHIELD's Most Wanted list, and it was pretty obvious that all of Loki's little henchmen were scared to death of him. So the reminder that he was, for lack of a better word, 'fucked,' wasn't really necessary.

Also, Bruce hadn't been planning on making an escape; he'd ruled that out yesterday, and it really wasn't a better idea now. Really, he knew his only real option was to wait, to stall, and to hope like hell that SHIELD and the Avengers managed to figure out what was happening in time to stop it.

Bruce knew he couldn't stop this on his own. And if he tried, well, he might just do more harm than good.

He'd already done plenty of harm.

_Don't think like that._

It was with those gloomy thoughts that Bruce made his way over to what Loki had described as a 'mess hall.' That was an awfully generous description, but Bruce was at least able to procure something that resembled breakfast. He even had Pop Tarts, relishing the effect of the empty carbohydrates on his blood sugar.

With little else to do, Bruce had a leisurely breakfast and alternated between contemplating ways to stop Loki and imagining worst-case scenarios of what could happen to him, to the other people in Loki's little club, and to the people at SHIELD if Loki's First Annual Quest for Vengeance went badly.

Since this whole disaster was his fault, after all. Worrying about the worst possible outcome seemed like the only thing he could do.

It was just after 9:00 AM when all hell broke loose.

Bruce had been sitting at a picnic table, drinking a glass of something that _looked _like orange juice but tasted more like...sugar water, when he noticed one of the computer people from the day before _sprinting_ across the compound, heading towards the doors to Loki's command center.

A moment later, people began streaming out of the warehouse. Bruce looked over his shoulder at the tent village, and yeah, people were pouring out of there, too. Apparently, they'd all gotten some message that he, newcomer that he was (and semi-prisoner, too) hadn't been privy to.

He was informed soon enough.

It occurred to him, briefly, that _now_ would be the time to run. He didn't know what was going on, but it was chaos—people running everywhere, yelling, moving equipment. No one was watching him—even the guy manning the food had run off.

But he'd barely even had the thought before Loki stormed out of his underground lair, straight towards Bruce.

Well...he didn't 'storm.' Really, he didn't seem any more or less agitated than he normally did—except for the lines around his eyes and mouth. But Bruce knew Bad Guys well enough to know that when their evil plans started going up in chaos, they tended to be displeased.

Although...chaos was kind of Loki's thing. Hell, maybe he was having fun with this.

_Shouldn't you be thinking about what you're going to do to fix this_?

But Bruce had kind of checked out already, some kind of defensive 'I can't do anything so I won't worry about it' thing.

His number one goal, after all, was to stay calm.

So he was impassive as Loki entered the tent and strode up to him, grabbing him by his upper arm.

"Banner," Loki said, and yeah, up close, he _did _look pissed. "As it turns out, SHIELD is not as woefully incompetent as I had imagined. I'm afraid that I've had to change our plans." He sounded mournful, like this was a huge inconvenience, like he was worried Bruce wasn't going to be available for their new date. "Have no fear, though," Loki reassured him, and Bruce wondered if he'd actually seemed upset, or if Loki was just nuts. "Our new arrangement will prove successful, I am sure." He paused. "Well. I am hopeful. I suppose it is of no matter to me; I can leave whenever I like. Success would be ideal, but I will settle for satisfaction." He looked up and met Bruce's eyes. "I hope you are ready to greet your friends. From what I understand, Director Fury has sent the Avengers to subdue you...along with a team to escort you back to SHIELD. It seems you have been...betrayed."

Bruce had been musing, idly picking apart Loki's words, but when he got to the end of his spiel, Bruce felt his stomach clench. "What?"

Loki grinned. "Yes. Your friends are coming to capture you, Banner, and return you to your torture."

_That doesn't make sense. Of course he's lying. They wouldn't do that. Tony wouldn't do that. _

_But if the alternative was him going to jail...? Or having to run?_

A wave of doubt crashed over Bruce, and for a moment, he wavered. Stood on a precipice, walking a tightrope between trust and fear, carefully balanced, everything he'd worked so hard to believe spread out below him...

And then he toppled.

* * *

**Sorry about the absurd amount of time between updates. Been kind of uninspired, and forced writing is bad writing. I'll try to do better next time, especially since I left it at a kind of mean spot.**

**Good news! This is almost over. I'm thinking 2-3 more chapters should do it.**

**Feel free to review. Even if you just want to yell at me for taking a month to update, that's fine.**


	16. Rescue

**Warnings: language, maybe? Some general unpleasantness? I don't even know.**

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for helping me to reign in Fury's rampaging ineptitude a bit. **

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

The time they spent at SHIELD was mercifully brief.

It was also very tense, but Tony was getting used to that. And, besides, what's a little tension among friends?

Still, despite being there for only twenty or so minutes, Tony managed to aggravate Fury. It was worth it, though, because he _finally _got some goddamn information.

Even if the information sucked.

The five of them had strode into the briefing room as a tight knot, with Steve at the front and Tony towards the back, standing behind Thor. They had all agreed (well, Natasha had threatened Tony, and that was close enough to agreement on his part) that Tony shouldn't talk, given his natural tendency towards blunt rudeness. Especially where Fury was concerned.

While he had been mostly able to restrain himself while communicating with Fury via video call, that small amount of restraint vanished the second he saw Fury in person. Tony attributed it to nerves; after all, he was about to engage in an epic rescue mission, so he had to let off some steam _somewhere_. Really, though, a tiny part of him was willing to admit it was because pissing Fury off in person was far more satisfying than a video call could ever be.

"NICK!" Tony had exclaimed buoyantly, pushing to the front of the group, pointedly ignoring Natasha's death glare and Clint and Steve's identical exasperated sighs. "I read the plans you sent over. Total bullshit!"

Fury had paused in the middle of whatever he was explaining to a group of agents and looked up with a glare. "Can it, Stark. We have work to do. Sit your ass down."

Tony had shrugged and taken the seat at the head of the conference table, tossing his briefcase (okay, _heaving_ his briefcase, because damn that portable suit was _heavy_) on the seat next to him. The other Avengers had settled down around him, and the SHIELD agents had joined them, leaving several seats between the two groups, their loyalties clear. Fury launched into an explanation of the mission.

It had basically amounted to 'the Avengers do the heavy lifting, SHIELD comes in behind them to sweep up what's left and handle the legal side of shit.'

"You assholes," Fury directed at Steve, "Will be accompanied by a team of SHIELD's best during the initial assault for backup."

They'd already known that, of course, but it sure was nice of Fury to point it out again.

Steve politely requested that Fury refrain from addressing them as 'you assholes' in the future. Thor seconded the motion.

A blood vessel in his forehead twitching, Fury agreed and moved on to logistics. The Avengers and their SHIELD-issue babysitters would be dropped off via helicopter a mile or so from the suspected compound and make their way in. When it was clear, they'd send a signal, and then the other SHIELD teams would come in and start arresting people.

"Including Dr. Banner," Fury pointed out with (what Tony thought was) unnecessary directness.

"And," Fury added, "Make no mistake. If there is any attempt to obstruct justice, other actions will be taken."

Simple enough. Blunt, too.

The Avengers looked between each other for a moment, and Tony knew they were all thinking what he was thinking: _looks like this is going to get ugly, then_.

"Any questions?" Fury asked.

The SHIELD agents had none, of course. The other Avengers weren't speaking up. But Tony _always_ had questions, and this was no exception. "Yeah, I've got one, Nick. Who the hell are we going up against, anyway?"

Fury rolled his eye. "You've seen the files, Stark. Mutants. Ex-cons. A lot of very dangerous, very angry people."

It was true; Tony _had_ seen the files. But there was something missing from them, and that something was still missing now. "Yeah, okay, sure. But who's running the joint, Fury?"

One of the SHIELD agents on Fury's right looked up, surprised. "You mean you didn't—"

"Fuck if I know," Fury ground out, interrupting him. "If I did, I'd tell you—"

"Yeah, I don't think you would, though," Tony disagreed. Fury wasn't exactly renowned for being transparent and open with information, ever. He was even less inclined to be so when it came to Tony—he'd keep information from him just because Tony had pissed him off. And if there was any actual benefit to keeping the information from them, anything at _all_, then Fury wouldn't hesitate to clam up.

On top of all that, that one agent seemed to think Fury had left something out, and that merited further questioning.

Clint and Natasha seemed to agree. They shot a look between each other before Clint said, looking at the agent, "I kinda want to hear what Agent Bigmouth over there has to say."

Tony wondered if his disrespect for authority and generally confrontational attitude were contagious.

Fury narrowed his eye at Clint before turning to the agent with an equally sour look. Tony got the distinct impression that the poor guy's tenure with SHIELD was very nearly at an end. "Agent Bigmouth," Fury stated icily, "Has nothing to say. Agent Bigmouth will not be talking again. Ever."

He paused, and Tony was nearly certain that they weren't going to get anything, that Fury was just going to brush it off and send them off on their mission.

But then Steve spoke up, "If you're not going to be forthright with us, director, we're ending this mission now."

Tony could have hugged him for coming up with the lie all on his own. There wasn't a chance in hell that they were going to abort this mission, after all. They needed to get to Bruce before SHIELD did, and before he suffered any more at the hands of his captors than he already had.

Steve's bluff was effective. For a minute, Fury clenched his jaw so tightly that Tony thought he could hear the director's teeth cracking, but then he relented. "Fine. You want to know?" Oddly, he looked at Thor. "You really want to know?"

Confused, Thor answered, "Yes. This information will aid us greatly, if it can help us to know what we are to expect."

Fury smirked. "Oh, you'll know just what to expect, trust me." He began to pace. "I had my suspicions, of course, but I couldn't prove anything. Still _can't_ prove a damn thing, honestly, he's been that damn secretive. But one of my agents managed to infiltrate this little compound, and, uh, managed to report back before he..." Fury trailed off, and Tony got the distinct impression that the agent in question had not lasted long after his report. "He didn't have a whole lot to give me, but it was enough to be pretty damn alarming. Because there's only one person that I know of who has in his possession a magical, glowing sphere of doom, am I right?"

Tony, who had been fidgeting with the clasp on his briefcase, looked up abruptly. "You can't be serious."

Yeah, there _was_ only one person who had a magical, glowing sphere of doom.

"Loki," Steve said, unnecessarily, but seemingly unable to come up with anything more insightful.

Clint and Natasha were equally dismayed, but surprisingly, Thor recovered from this news quickly. "How long have you known that it was my brother causing this mischief? That it was my brother you were sending me in to neutralize?"

_Mischief_? Tony thought. _ Guy's got a talent for understatement_. But it was a good point that Thor brought up. Had Fury honestly intended to send them in, not knowing who the 'big bad' was, hoping that they'd just eliminate him, no questions asked? Did Fury think they even _could _take Loki out, armed as he was? The doom sphere was one hell of a trinket, could let Loki do just about anything he could conceive.

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you," Fury countered. "You can't see past that 'brother' bullshit. This job needs to get done, regardless of who's running their op."

Clint interjected, "Uh, I'm as much get-the-job-done as the next person, but don't you think a little fucking _warning_ would have been nice? That psycho's a powerhouse. Could probably vaporize us on sight or something, if he felt like it."

Natasha added, "You can't honestly think that sending us in blind would be a good idea."

"Look," Fury stated, "I don't expect you to do shit about Loki. Way I figure, you _can't _do shit about him."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "That's optimistic."

Ignoring her, Fury continued, "But the way this is going...from my intel, Loki is just playing a game. Setting up a chess board. He's not the type to get his hands dirty."

Thor nodded in agreement. "My brother...has no difficulty in convincing others to do his work for him." He looked momentarily abashed, and Tony got the impression that Thor had been 'convinced' more than once by his manipulative little brother.

"So what're you saying," Tony threw out. "Is that you don't think Loki's going to come out and play?"

Fury shook his head. "Look what happened last time that asshole was here." He glanced around to make sure referring to _Loki _as 'that asshole' was acceptable before continuing, "He fucked around with Banner and then exited stage right before we could get our hands on him. Asshole's probably gonna vanish or fly away or some shit as soon as you ass—I mean, as soon as you all show up."

It made sense. Loki had control of the sphere last time they'd faced off, and he'd just used it to teleport, not to annihilate anyone. Maybe Fury was right, and Loki would just fly the coop as soon as they got there.

One thing the director had said, though, merited questioning. Tony wondered for a second if this was really the time to bring it up, but then decided 'to hell with it.' "So...you admit what happened with Bruce last year...was at least _partially _Loki's fault?"

This was apparently _not_ the time to bring it up. "Shut the hell up, Stark," Fury replied, with a glare. "This Banner shit is a fucking nightmare, and I can't deal with that until I've got the Loki shit under control." He looked at the whole group. "I need you to clean this up. I need it done _yesterday_."

Going head to head with Loki wasn't something that Tony had been planning on doing today, and honestly, it wasn't something he _wanted _to do, ever. And Fury's attitude about the whole thing was...troubling. But more worrisome than all that was the fact that Bruce had been with _Loki_ all this time. The two of them...well...weren't a good combination. Loki was a manipulative bastard, and Bruce was a prime candidate for being manipulated. God only knew what malevolent ideas Loki was drilling into Bruce's mind. Or...maybe he was doing something worse. With that sphere, his options were unlimited. Maybe he was finally getting back at Bruce for how Hulk had ended Loki's bid for world domination in Manhattan, getting back at him in slow, agonizing detail...

That thought drove Tony into action. He stood up, interrupting whatever Steve had been saying to Fury, with, "Look, great, it's Loki. We've done Loki. The goal hasn't changed that much. We'll clean out his camp, do what we can about him. It might not be much. But we should _move_."

Fury gave Tony an appraising look that Tony did not really appreciate. Then he looked at Thor. "You signed on to protect the damn Earth, and that includes protecting it from your damn brother. I don't have high expectations here, but give me something."

Thor sighed. For a moment, Tony pitied him—if it was _his _brother constantly fucking shit up everywhere he went, he'd probably be a lot less patient. But Thor just accepted that this was his mess to clean up, again. He answered Fury, "You are correct, and I will do what I can."

And with that, the Avengers had moved with their backup team to the helicopter.

Now, still ten or so miles out from where they were being dropped off, Tony nudged Steve, who was sitting next to him. Softly, he muttered, "You ready?"

Steve nodded minutely, and Tony stood up. He stretched, then set his briefcase on the ground and kicked it open. The SHIELD agents watched the suit assemble with something approaching awe, but the other Avengers had seen Tony do _way_ cooler stuff, so they just looked at each other, bored.

Suited up, Tony said softly, "JARVIS? We online? Ready to rock?"

"Indeed, sir," the AI replied, equally soft. "The program you requested is ready to be launched, and I have the coordinates from the mission file saved and ready."

This was related to the stunningly brilliant idea that Tony had had while crossing the parking lot into SHIELD's on-land headquarters. He'd actually stopped abruptly, having a eureka moment, and said, "I can fly."

"No shit, Sherlock," had been Natasha's terse reply. She was still annoyed at him for how bad his _first _plan was.

Well, she was going to love this one.

"I can fly," Tony had repeated. "And so can Point Break over there."

"...And...?" Clint had prompted.

Yeah, they were going to love this.

"We're arriving via helicopter, right? Well, I sure as shit move faster than a helicopter. So does Thor. So...say we just ditch the helicopter?"

"I'm not jumping out of a helicopter," Clint had stated bluntly.

Tony had thrown an arm around each skeptical assassin; Steve and Thor had watched him, bemused. Tony had tsked, "Now, hear me out. We ditch the helicopter. I have JARVIS scramble their navigation system, buy us some more time. We get all this shit taken care of before our 'backup' team gets there. We get Bruce out, anyway. Maybe hide him in a cave or some shit, I don't know. Then we take care of the rest of whatever needs to be done. Say he's not there, or that he's run away, or whatever we need to do."

Natasha and Clint had still looked skeptical, but Steve had said slowly, "That...might work."

"You can't be serious." Tony knew Natasha liked having better plans, but sometimes, this kind of half-assed shit was the best you could do.

"I'm completely serious," he had said. And after he'd made a quick call to his AI, and assured Steve that he could, in fact, do what he said he could to the helicopter, everyone had reluctantly agreed to be airlifted via superhero from the helicopter to Loki's Land of Enchantment.

And now they were going to do it.

"JARVIS, launch the program," Tony muttered under his breath. At the AI's affirmative, Tony clunked over to the door and, before anyone could even question what he was doing, he kicked it open.

Nat and Clint leapt up, all of their gear already strapped securely on them, and Tony grabbed onto them as tightly as he could. They latched onto him, and Tony jumped out of the helicopter. Behind Tony, Thor grabbed Steve, who had his shield slung over his back, and jumped as well, swinging Mjölnir with his free arm.

Tony blasted off where JARVIS directed him; Thor followed close behind.

Above them, the helicopter stopped, hovering in place, at least momentarily confused.

Tony ignored them, shielding himself from radar, and following JARVIS's instructions.

He was done with SHIELD, and now he had to get to work.

* * *

Standing abruptly from his picnic table, Bruce turned to face Loki.

"_Your friends are coming to capture you, Banner, and return you to your torture," _the demigod had said, and for a moment, Bruce had believed him. Had believed that his friends _should_ come to capture him, because that was _right_ and he was _wrong _and _dangerous_. He was a monster, and so _of course_ they were going to come for him, no questions asked...

For a moment he had believed it. And then his Tony-voice of reason had caught up with him, and Bruce had thought, _That is complete bullshit_. _Look at how much they've all risked for you. They're not going to turn on you now, you moron._

Now, looking Loki in the eye, Bruce clearly enunciated, "You're wrong." He paused before adding, "You can't just say whatever and expect me to believe you. I'm stronger than that." The unspoken 'now' hung heavy in the air.

Loki heard it loud and clear, though, and his grin faded abruptly from his face and he narrowed his eyes. "Is that so."

His flat delivery, those narrowed eyes, were the only warning Bruce got before Loki grabbed his wrist and _yanked_. Hard.

And he was much, much stronger than he looked.

Bruce stumbled as Loki dragged him out of the mess area, trying to get his feet underneath him, trying to keep Loki from dislocating his shoulder as he was dragged across the compound.

He stumbled, though, tripping on a dip in the ground, and a sharp, hot pain ripped down his arm and his vision grayed out. He thought then that he might have failed in _that_ particular mission.

But his vision _gr__a__yed _out and didn't _green _out, and as much as it hurt, he knew he wasn't close to that edge yet. He could take a lot more. Physical pain wasn't a problem. Physical pain was easy. That, he remembered. He knew he could control himself through this.

Bruce marveled that the sheer _faith _he had in himself. A faith that even a day or two ago would have been completely foreign. But the last few days had shown him exactly how far his control reached, had begun to chip away at the delusional fears that SHIELD had planted in him. And now he _remembered _what it was to feel in control, what it was to know he _could_ do this.

Although...it really did hurt.

_Just breathe, Banner._

Loki wasn't too concerned by the discomfort he was causing, had apparently reverted from charming host to psychopath in a matter of moments. He dragged Bruce clear across the compound, and it took Bruce most of the distance to get completely to his feet.

As he dragged Bruce along, Loki talked. He sounded...offended, almost, at least, from what Bruce could make out. He wasn't paying too much attention, and Loki's voice faded in and out through the fog ensconcing him.

"Banner, I am impressed with your personal growth. Truly. But now is really not the time for you to turn your back on the fundamental issue at hand."

Bruce vaguely wondered what the fundamental issue was.

When he tuned back in, Loki was saying, "As...centered as you are, as...dare I say, 'calm'... I am worried about the reception that you will be giving to SHIELD. Banner, I need you to truly be 'in the game,' as it were. And I am not convinced that you are playing with your full strength." He tugged Bruce's arm for emphasis (Bruce felt his stomach turn with the pain) and added, "In fact, I am certain you are not. Because...here you are. You."

They were approaching the cellar, where Loki had set up his central command.

"We can fix that, though," Loki assured him.

Bruce didn't like the sound of that at all. He forced out, "What...what do you mean?"

Loki shrugged with the arm that wasn't yanking Bruce across the compound. "Well, applying the proper stimulus will always result in the correct response, yes?" He looked over his shoulder. "I _know _your 'stimulus.' Perhaps a concentrated dose will suffice to produce the desired result."

When they got to the doors to the cellar, Loki gave Bruce's arm a particularly vicious tug before pulling the doors open with his other hand and unceremoniously tossing Bruce down the stairs. He followed, walking down them gracefully, letting the doors fall closed behind him.

_That_ also really hurt, and Bruce just lay at the bottom of the stairs, the area around him illuminated only by the abandoned computer screens, trying to breathe through the agony in his arm and, now, his ribs.

For several minutes, he wasn't capable of doing much more, and Loki moved around the room, typing commands, making adjustments. After a moment, Loki announced, "There. I believe that will do. Now, _I _must go attend to our visitors. _You _may come out when you are ready to...play."

Bruce tried to stand, but as Loki walked by, he pushed Bruce back to the ground roughly with one foot, applying pressure to the tender area in his ribs. Gasping, Bruce went down easily, and Loki strode back up the stairs. For a moment, he was framed against the morning sky as he opened the doors to the cellar, and then he was gone. Bruce heard the sound of a chain being dragged through the handles on the doors above, and he knew then that he wasn't going to get out of here. Not on his own. At least...not as himself.

Still, he used his good arm to force himself up so he was sitting. He was a genius, damn it, he could figure _something _out. He'd just managed to adjust himself so that neither his arm nor ribs were hurting him more than they had to when, on the computer screens behind him, a video began to play.

It took him less than three seconds to recognize it as video footage from his sessions with Locklear.

It took another two seconds for him to process that enough to form some kind of response.

Unfortunately, that response was 'watch avidly,' and not something more useful. Like, trying to get up, or turning off the computers, or trying to break the door down.

And even though it was obvious, now, what Loki was trying to do—_he wants me angry, wants the Other Guy to break out of here_—he just couldn't make himself _move_ once confronted with the images on the damn screens.

For several minutes, he just watched. And grew angry. And annoyed, and frustrated, mostly with his own uselessness. Anger, though, was his strongest emotion. Watching the shit going on in the video...it was disgusting. It made him feel sick.

But...

Damn it, he wasn't going to let Loki win, refused to give that psycho what he wanted. Loki's whole plan hinged on him not having control, on him giving in, and he _wouldn't_ _give him the satisfaction of being right_.

"You know what?" Bruce muttered to himself, lurching to his feet, trying to stabilize his bad arm with his other one, "I'm done. This is over." Loki thought he knew what Bruce's triggers were? Screw that. Loki didn't know him. Didn't understand him. Hell, Loki thought he was a damn monster, apparently incapable of higher thought, of reason. Loki figured he'd just see these damn videos of what SHIELD had done and he'd _snap_, like he had earlier, when Loki had given him his SHIELD file. But this was different. Now, it wasn't a surprise.

Now, he was in control.

He was angry. Furious, even. At SHIELD, at Loki, and yeah, at himself. Always. But he was in control.

That was what mattered. And Bruce knew what he had to do.

For a moment, he was seized with doubt. _You __do__n't have enough control for this. You're going to get everyone killed—_

But that was bullshit. He remembered Manhattan, at least, he remembered enough of it. He remembered, over and over again, as Tony and the others told him that he had more control than he thought he did. That he wasn't a mindless monster.

He _wasn't_ a mindless monster. He _could_ do this. Because he needed to. He needed to get out of here, and he needed to stop Loki, or at least do his damnedest to try. After all, this was his fault. His fault that Loki had set this whole thing up, his fault that Loki had targeted Locklear and SHIELD. His fault that his friends were in danger. So he wasn't going to sit and wait like some damsel in distress because he was too afraid to rescue himself.

Ruthlessly, Bruce crushed down his doubts, his fears. He reached deep into himself and found that space inside of him, the one that _pulsed_ with anger.

And he tapped into it.

* * *

Finding the compound was fairly simple, with JARVIS leading the way. Unfortunately, Tony knew they didn't have the head start on the SHIELD agents that he'd hoped they would—it seemed they were, miraculously, less incompetent than he'd thought, and were (according to JARVIS) able to get navigation back online in about half as long as he'd thought it would take.

Still, carrying Natasha and Clint (and trying to ignore Clint's increasingly acidic comments about his flying prowess) Tony led Thor (and Steve) towards Loki's little encampment.

He knew he was getting close when he had to start dodging bullets.

"Could you maybe put us down?" Natasha yelled, as Tony swerved around a tree to the sound of gunfire. She was trying to pull a handgun out of its holster with one hand while hugging Tony with the other, and it wasn't going well.

"Sure thing," Tony agreed amicably. Faster they got everyone on the ground, faster they could get out of here. Hopefully.

So, scanning the area and making sure no one was aiming at him, he dropped down onto the forest floor. "Camp's this way," he said, gesturing, looking around for enemies.

A moment later, Thor landed, dropping Steve unceremoniously onto the ground. He stood up quickly and, brushing himself off, asked, "Everyone ready to move?"

They all gave the affirmative, and Steve reminded them, sounding weary, "Try for non-lethal force, if you can," before leading them in the direction Tony pointed him.

The group met a few more guards in the forest, seemingly positioned at random. Steve and Natasha took out most of them, working efficiently to disarm and restrain them.

Tony was just beginning to think that this might be pretty easy when they broke through the forest into the edge of a clearing. And there, lined up in several rows, were a couple hundred really, really pissed off looking people. With guns.

And Loki was there as well, standing at their front. Looking very, very self-satisfied.

Tony had never wanted to punch someone in the mouth more.

The five of them took in their unfavorable odds quickly, and Steve stepped forward, trying to defuse the situation. "Loki, you don't have to—"

Tony pushed forward, too, and interrupted, "Where the fuck is Bruce?"

Steve glared at him, but Tony wasn't in the mood to play nice. Their plan involved moving quickly, after all, and they needed to get Bruce out of here ASAP.

Loki countered with a question of his own. "I had thought there would be...more of you. Where is SHIELD for this illustrious occasion?" He sounded strangely disappointed.

"Just answer the question," Steve demanded, taking a step forward.

Instantly, all of Loki's minions raised their weapons. Loki, though, held up a hand to still them, and answered, "I do not believe Dr. Banner will be joining us." He smirked. "His alter ego should be along at any time, though. I hope that suits you."

As if waiting for his cue, a deafening _roar_ rang out from somewhere behind Loki. Tony scanned the compound and couldn't see anything, though. But then, exploding upwards from the ground in a shower of debris, came the unmistakable shape of Hulk.

"Right on time," Loki mused. A helicopter could be heard in the distance, and Loki added, "And SHIELD is punctual as well. Very good."

Then, idly, languidly, he ordered his minions, "Open fire."

And then he vanished.

* * *

**My update schedule has no regularity or predictability, for which I apologize. But hey, less than a month this time, right?**

**Thanks for reading!**

**You should let me know what you think...**


	17. You Assholes

**Warnings: language, angst, Loki.**_  
_

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for being awesome. As always. It really goes without saying at this point, but I will continue to say it. Also, she gets credit for the chapter title.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

_You've gotta be kidding me_, Tony thought to himself, staring down the barrel of a very long, very impressive gun as Loki vanished from in front of him. _You have got to be _fucking _kidding me_. _That asshole._

Apparently, Loki's minions agreed with Tony's assessment. They did _not _immediately open fire as he commanded. Instead, several of them looked over their shoulders towards where Hulk was bounding across the compound towards the fray, straight towards all of them.

Evidently, they hadn't been expecting this. Probably wasn't what they'd signed up for.

Steve took their distraction as an advantage and threw his shield, toppling a large section of the first row. Quickly, Natasha moved to immobilize them, using what looked like...zip ties? Behind those two, Clint slipped away, back under the tree cover, raising his bow into a ready position.

Some of the minions started to get their shit together, firing their weapons (and other stuff...Tony thought he saw lasers).

Seeing that the battle was more or less underway, Tony blasted straight up, over the crowd. He wanted to come at this from a more advantageous angle. He did a quick survey of the area, looking for potential cover and any problematic areas.

"Sir," JARVIS informed him, "I think it is prudent to note that Loki has not left the area. He has simple relocated to a new post about twenty yards to the south."

Tony turned his head, and JARVIS picked out the form of the demigod, leaning casually against a tree, watching the scene unfolding before him with almost complete indifference.

Then the SHIELD helicopter—that they'd been hoping to get rid of—flew over the compound, presumably scanning the situation.

They finished their loop and turned abruptly and headed back the way they'd come, heading back over the forest, away from the battle.

Tony suddenly had the strangest sensation of having been abandoned.

_Fuck that. This is their mess, they're going to deal with this shit._

Tony quickly scanned the area below him. He saw Thor, using his hammer to bash the ground around him, unsettling anyone who got too close. When they fell, either Natasha would immobilize them, or Clint would tranquilize them. That was far more creativity than Tony would have attributed to the demigod (and it was fun to watch, besides), but he had a job for Thor.

"Hey Rapunzel," Tony spoke into his comm. "I need you to crash a helicopter."

"Oh, hell no," came Natasha's response. There was the sound of several 'thumps' and then a grunt before she continued, "You are _not _attacking a SHIELD vessel—"

"They should've thought of that before just leaving us hung out to dry out here," Tony said, dodging bullets and toning down his repulsors so that they'd only send a person flying through the air a _little_ bit. He aimed and took down a cluster of Loki's minions, moving his hand in an arc.

"They _didn't_," Steve huffed, sounding disbelieving and aggrieved.

"They did," Tony answered. "They—"

He didn't get an opportunity to give any more information, or to give Thor any further instructions. He didn't have to. Because the helicopter came back over the woods, dragged along as if suspended by some great force, and was set down rather less than gently on its side in the middle of the compound.

Loki stood next to it, looking smug, glowing sphere clasped loosely in one hand.

But Tony didn't get very long to take that in. Because he was promptly distracted by Hulk.

He thundered up to the main group of fighters with an ear-shattering roar, using his huge fists to swipe people aside, like they weighed nothing. Tony dodged the flying bodies as best he could, gaining some altitude.

Hulk didn't even notice he was there. Or, if he did, he didn't care.

Loki, unsurprisingly, did not step in to aid his minions. Tony had known from the beginning that Loki didn't care about these people beyond whatever he could use them for. And basically that use was cannon fodder, something some of them seemed to be realizing, if their frantic retreat into the forest was anything to go by.

Steve and Thor headed some of them off, doing their best to stop the deserters. SHIELD would probably want to detain them.

Across the compound, the people on the helicopter slowly made their way off, looking dazed. A few were sporting bruises and cuts, evidence of their rough landing. Despite their discombobulation, it only took a second after their disembarkation to realize the danger they were in, though.

Hulk had given up his mission of swatting Loki's minions abruptly when he saw the helicopter. He stopped what he was doing, and he focused in on the scene in front of him intently. The SHIELD helicopter, logo huge and obvious. The disembarking agents in their SHIELD uniforms.

Hulk ran straight towards them.

Tony whirled around in the air and followed him, but he knew it was going to be too late. Those SHIELD agents were goners, didn't stand a chance, and Loki was just going to sit there and _watch _this with that smug-ass look on his face.

This is what he'd wanted. Revenge on SHIELD. Probably not exactly what he had planned, but it was going to be _something_.

_God damn it!_

Hulk got to the downed helicopter absurdly fast. But that's where his forward momentum stopped. He paced back and forth around the downed chopper, growling, not taking his eyes off the agents. The agents didn't even try to move, to run. They just stood paralyzed with fear, barely breathing.

Back at the edge of the woods, the battle had even stopped, all of the combatants turned to watch this, waiting to see the massacre that was going to happen.

Everything was completely still.

Then Loki began to laugh, just a small, amused huff.

It was enough. The spell was broken. Hulk exploded into motion.

But he ignored the cowering SHIELD agents. He went straight for Loki.

And the demigod was so surprised, so unprepared for this unexpected turn of events, that he didn't have even a second to react before Hulk's formidable fist connected with his chest and he went sailing through the air.

The sphere that he'd been cradling for the last several moments fell from his hands.

Hulk leapt after Loki, who recovered quickly. Even without the sphere, his magic was strong, and he managed to stumble to his feet and cast a spell, holding Hulk immobile.

Clearly though, it was draining him—beads of sweat were forming on his brow and his skin was losing what small amount of color it had. He wasn't going to be able to hold on for long.

"Stark, get down here," came Steve's voice over the comm. Tony obediently lowered himself down to the ground, where the others were assembled. Without speaking, Thor walked over to the sphere and plucked it up off the ground, holding it reverently.

Behind them, the battle was done. There was a slew of people either bound and gagged (definitely zip ties and duct tape—trust Natasha to go the low-tech route) or knocked out on tranquilizers that needed to be taken care of, but most of Loki's minions had started to flee when they'd seen Hulk, and even more had made a break for it when they saw their leader start to take a beating.

_That's the kind of loyalty you can expect from ex-cons_, Tony thought. He nodded at the others, then towards Loki and Hulk. "Loki's not going to be able to hold that for long."

"Without this item," Thor added, closing the sphere in his fist, "His powers will be much diminished. Teleportation will not be possible."

"I say we let Hulk smash him," Clint offered helpfully. "With all of us watching, this time."

"No," Natasha squashed that idea. "We _do_ need to detain him. Detain them both. The rest of the team is waiting for the all-clear."

Tony took issue with the word 'detain.' "We're not giving them Bruce, Romanoff."

She glared at him. "I know that. But we have an 'issue' right now, Stark. That's not Bruce."

That moment, Loki's holding spell broke and Hulk lunged forwards once again. Loki tried to immobilize him again, but it only lasted a second, and then Hulk was free. He grabbed Loki by the arm and whipped him around in a vicious circle, clearly dislocating the demigod's shoulder.

This made Hulk look oddly self-satisfied.

Loki, apparently using what little common sense he had, gave up resisting and went limp. Hulk picked him up once more and threw him full-force into a tree, apparently just for good measure.

The tree shattered. Loki did not move again.

Hulk began to pace back and forth again, growling. He made no move towards the assembled Avengers a couple of scant yards away.

"We need to do something," Natasha prompted in a harsh whisper.

Steve nodded. "Natasha, Clint, and I will go after Loki. Tony, you and Thor see what you can do with Hulk."

Tony threw a quick (and only maybe half sarcastic) salute before beckoning for Thor. "Come on, Rapunzel. Let's go say hi to Bruce."

Slowly, the group approached Hulk and Loki. They branched off towards their separate targets, and Steve moved over to Loki, checking for vital signs.

He didn't even twitch. Apparently, he'd been knocked completely out.

Tony clanked over to Hulk, whose pacing had not ceased, and said, "What's up, big guy?"

Hulk cast a quick look at Thor before focusing on Tony. He let out a huff and sat down. "Puny god," he grumbled, sounding somewhat aggrieved.

And what more was there to say about it than that?

Tony answered, "Yeah, you uh, took care of him pretty hardcore. Good job."

Hulk looked pleased by the praise, and the look he shot Tony was almost...fond. Then, with no further input or prompting from Tony, Hulk closed his eyes and began to shrink down into something much more Bruce-sized.

Within moments, he had completely untransformed, and Thor picked up Bruce's unconscious body, shifting his cape so that it mostly covered Bruce's lower half.

The crisis now over (at least, Crisis Phase 1), Tony mused, "Wow. Didn't really require a lot of input from us, did he? Just, wham, bam, thank you ma'am."

The look on Thor's face indicated that he didn't quite understand the idiom, so Tony clarified, "Bruce, um, really knew what to do. Doing what he did...had to take a lot of control."

As they walked back over to Steve and the others, Thor said, "It is good that he finally knows he is capable of it."

Tony really hoped Bruce did.

When they got to where Steve, Clint, and Natasha had restrained the still-unconscious Loki, Thor observed, "Those bindings are not likely to hold him for long."

Natasha nodded. "We're kind of leaning on you to keep him in line. Where's the sphere? If you're going to be near Loki, I want that thing kept away from him."

Thor reached into a pocket (_how does that outfit have room for pockets, anyway_) and pulled out the object. Natasha took it and, after an approving nod from Steve, tucked it in with some of her other equipment.

Tony took a moment to evaluate himself and the others for injuries. As far as that went, they'd gotten off pretty easy. Tony was fine, if a little dinged up. Natasha had a burn on one arm, and Steve had a trickle of blood creeping down from his hairline, but they didn't look too bad.

It seemed like everyone was doing the same rundown. When they were done, Natasha pointed out, "SHIELD is expecting the all-clear. If we don't send it soon, they're going to come in and launch an assault."

"Good point," Steve said. "I'll signal them. But is there anywhere we can put these two?" he asked, gesturing to their two unconscious companions.

Tony remembered something from when he'd been hovering, surveilling the camp. "There's some buildings over that way," he gestured. "Could be cabins."

Everyone agreed that sounded like a reasonable assumption, so they headed in that direction. Tony got there first (he might have cheated and flown) and he threw open the door on the first building.

It was, indeed, a cabin. There was a miniscule kitchen, a tiny bedroom, a small living area, and a closet of a bathroom.

It would do.

"In here," Tony directed, standing out of the way. Thor came in first, and Tony directed him to the bedroom. Thor placed Bruce on the bed gently, before reaching for a sheet and covering him in lieu of his cape.

Steve was next, with Loki slung over a shoulder, and he was dumped rather less carefully on a couch. And after a moment, Steve actually moved him to the floor. With a shrug, he said, "Floor's more stable if he has a back injury."

Tony smirked—he apparently wasn't the only one who didn't think Loki deserved a place on the furniture.

After he'd dumped Loki, Steve headed back outside and made the call to SHIELD. When he was done, he popped back in and said, "They should be here in fifteen minutes." He paused. "We need a plan."

Plans. Tony could do plans. He cast his eyes into the bedroom, where Bruce was sprawled out on the bed. "Fifteen minutes is plenty of time for me to get him out of here."

"You'll be a fugitive," Clint pointed out.

"Yeah, Merida, I know that," Tony snarked. "But look. Loki's here. What more do they want?"

"Bruce in a medical research cell and you in jail," Natasha stated with a shrug.

Steve looked troubled, but when he spoke, he sounded authoritative. "Where would you take him? You can't go back to the Tower. Or anywhere else that's associated with you. But I think we can still work this out, if we just have more _time_."

Tony thought about it. Steve's faith in negotiation was admirable, almost contagious. "I could probably get a motel room." The thought made him want to shudder. "We could stick it out there, keep incognito until Fury's cooled down some. I mean, giving him Loki should count for something, right?"

No one—including Tony—was thrilled with this plan. But Steve gave an affirmative nod. "Will you be able to get out, if you need to?"

Tony gestured down at his suit. "Pretty solid method of transport, Cap." He headed to the bedroom to get Bruce ready to go.

"Hold on one more minute," Steve insisted. "How can we contact you?"

Tony wondered if anyone ever listened to him when he explained things, or if he just did it to hear himself talk. "You can call me. Those phones I gave you are mostly untrackable. Just don't call a _lot_. Or, call JARVIS back at the Tower. I'll keep him informed."

With that, he grabbed Bruce—sheet and all—and headed out the door.

Watching them fly away, Natasha mused, "Yeah, the two of them trying to keep a low profile. I can't wait to see this."

* * *

Before he was even fully conscious, Bruce knew that he felt like shit.

Everything _hurt_. His head, mostly, but it felt like he'd been ripped apart and put back together and it was just, ugh. Miserable.

_Hazard of transforming twice in twenty-four hours, Banner_.

Oh, yeah. That. That _spectacular _idea he'd had. Well, better face the music sooner than later.

First, he did a body check, to ascertain if he was, in fact, dressed. He was wearing pants, at least (Bruce wondered if the others _liked _playing Brucie Dress Up) so he decided he could manage conversation.

Groaning, he cracked open his eyes and sat up.

The room he was in was ugly beyond all reason. More ugly than any room had a right to be. And every single detail, from the bland paintings to the weird light fixtures screamed 'Motel Room!'

He'd been expecting SHIELD, honestly. So this was different.

"Oh, you've finally decided to return to the land of the living," came a voice on Bruce's left. He turned his head.

Tony was sprawled out on his own bed, eating a pizza and flipping through the channels on the television. "You just missed this _great _Lifetime movie about—"

"Tony," Bruce interrupted. There were some things he felt they _needed _to talk about, and a Lifetime movie wasn't one of them. "What happened?"

Instantly more serious, Tony turned to him. "Well...you stopped Loki." He grabbed a slice of pizza and a napkin and offered it to Bruce, who took it, bemused. After a couple of bites, Tony handed him a bottle of water, too, and he took a few sips.

Then Bruce tried again. "What happened? Was anyone killed? What's SHIELD doing?" He needed to know if he'd done anything. Needed to know what kind of danger he was in because of it.

Tony held up a hand, and Bruce stopped his barrage of questions.

"From what Steve's managed to tell me, there were a few casualties. A few of them caused by Hulk. But honestly? More caused by people having adverse reactions to Barton's tranquilizer darts. And all casualties were working for Loki. The SHIELD team that came in with us was unharmed, as were all of us." Tony paused. "It seemed like Loki was planning on using Hulk to attack SHIELD. But it didn't go down that way." He looked up at Bruce, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "Hulk went straight for Loki, Bruce. He knew who he needed to take down and he did it."

Bruce felt his mouth drop. He couldn't believe that had actually happened. When he'd busted out of that basement...he'd thought he might be able to control himself, but he'd honestly been planning on massive casualties, on rampaging like a monster.

And apparently, he hadn't.

"What about SHIELD?" Bruce asked, after a moment. From the way they were holed up here, apparently things on that front weren't going well.

"Well...according to Steve's last update, Fury's pissed. He has Loki, and that's taking some of the edge off. So's the fact that Hulk didn't attack any non-hostiles. He's not demanding your immediate imprisonment. But he wants you back on that GMSS shit, and that's _so_ not happening."

After everything that had happened, and Tony was still fixated on _that_.

Speaking of... "Do you have the bracelet?"

Tony looked confused. "No. Why would I?"

"I, uh, I've been wearing it, since I don't know about withdrawal. You know. From the new stuff. It doesn't do anything, but it's still binding to the same receptors the GMSS was..." he trailed off, uncertain how to continue.

Tony made a thoughtful noise. "How do you feel?"

Honestly? "Like shit."

"More shitty than normal, given the circumstances?"

Bruce considered. "Not really."

Tony clapped his hands together. "Works for me. Field testing is the best testing, I say." He sobered. "I won't let them put you back on that stuff, Bruce."

Bruce clenched a fist in the sheets next to him. He didn't _want _to be on that shit. He didn't need it. Hadn't he proved that? He looked at Tony. "I'm not going back on it. Don't I get a choice?"

Tony looked at him for a moment, and the billionaire seemed pleased.

"What?" Bruce demanded.

Shrugging, Tony said, "It's just good to hear you sound so, uh, vehement about it, that's all." He frowned then, and added, "But to answer your question...Legally...you don't get a choice. It was part of the agreement that got you out of there to begin with. I can challenge the conditions of the agreement, of course, but..."

"But?"

Tony smirked. "Chances are pretty good I'm not going to be in much of a place to launch legal suits soon. Fury's after my blood worse than he's after yours."

Bruce fiddled with the sheet on his bed for a moment, gearing himself for the question he knew he needed to ask. He thought he already knew the answer, but he wanted to know for sure. "How much—" he coughed and took a sip of water before he tried again, "How much does SHIELD know? How much doesn't Fury know?"

Tony didn't even bat an eye when he answered, "Everything. He knows everything. He knows I faked the GMSS, he knows that you Hulked out on at least two occasions—"

Bruce interrupted, "How can he know—"

"Loki's little army was more than willing to talk, after their great and glorious leader threw them under the bus." Tony paused, and he said, "I, um, I know about Locklear."

Locklear. That name was still enough to send a shard of white-hot rage straight through Bruce's midsection. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Tony went on, "I know you didn't kill her. SHIELD knows that, too. One of Loki's guards was pretty clear about the fact that you didn't do it. In fact, during your little vacation, you didn't hurt anyone, except the people we were trying to defeat."

"Like that matters," Bruce mumbled. He might not have hurt anyone who didn't deserve it _this time_, but people _had been_ hurt because of him_. _He _had _killed. And that was always going to count for something. He could work from dawn until dusk proving that he was safe, that he had control, but he'd never be innocent again.

It was something he'd have to learn to deal with, something he'd have to learn to carry. Actually _learn_, too, not just do something half-assed to make it go away. Because, as experience had shown him, it couldn't just evaporate if he pretended it didn't exist.

"What happened to Loki?" Bruce changed the subject, unwilling to dwell on the huge spectre _that _presented.

Tony ignored the awkward transition and answered, "Well, um, he crashed a SHIELD helicopter in the middle of his compound, and all these SHIELD agents came out. Hulk, um, you ran straight for them. But you didn't even make a move for any of them. You went straight for Loki, and he didn't stop you." Tony paused. "It was like he didn't even think he'd have to try. What the hell was that?"

Part of this, Bruce could explain. "I think...for once, Loki was actually surprised. He didn't expect I'd go for _him_. He had me locked down in a cellar, and he was trying to get me to turn into...Hulk. He was trying to trigger it, trying to turn me against SHIELD. He'd already managed to do it once." The next part was harder to say, but he kept going. "He _knew_ he could do it, just turn me out on someone like that, because he thought he could control me. The mindless beast. He thought he knew everything about this _monster _inside of me, thought he could bend it to his will. But he doesn't, and he can't. He maybe gets part of it, but not all. And not enough." Bruce took a breath, willing himself on. "I knew it was a stupid risk. I knew I'd probably get someone killed, and end up back at SHIELD but...I had the power to rescue myself. I could get out of that cellar, could maybe help so I...did it. I transformed."

And then the part that still amazed him even now: "I transformed, and...there was the rage, and the incoherence, and the urge to _kill_...but there was also this drive...to find Loki. To smash, and break, and destroy _him_. I didn't know why, or what for—the Other Guy never does—but I knew I had to find him."

"So I went to find him. You saw the rest."

He stopped and looked up at Tony, who had leaned back against the headboard of his bed to look at Bruce pensively. The billionaire offered, "I told you so."

Probably not the most mature response, but it made Bruce laugh. "Yeah, you did. You told me from the beginning that I had more control than I thought I did." He chuckled tiredly and then added, "My 'voice of reason' kind of sounds like you, now."

"That's a problem," Tony admitted, his grin banishing the seriousness of his words. "Could be worse, though; I mean, what if your voice of reason was Thor? 'Hark, heed me, Banner, for it is not as you believe!'"

Both men laughed at that for almost five seconds, and as they quieted, the mood turned sober again. Bruce said, "And after the battle?"

"The others brought Loki to SHIELD, where he's locked up pretty tight. He's not talking. Don't think he liked how his little party went down."

"What are we going to do, now?" Bruce asked, as Tony turned a melancholic look at his phone.

"Now?" Tony repeated. "We wait and see if SHIELD's going to let us go home or not. If not, we're heading to South America, amigo." This option clearly didn't appeal to the billionaire, but he tried to sound upbeat.

The first option was confusing. "Why would they let us go home?"

Tony perked up immediately. He grabbed what passed for a 'laptop' and brought it over to Bruce. Shoving the physicist aside so he could climb on the bed, he said, "Well, as it turns out, we have a little bit of leverage on them. Pretty strong evidence that SHIELD let you get kidnapped, evidence that they have been attempting to use the Avengers to do their dirty work, that sort of thing. It's not rock solid, but it really looks bad. And if you feed something straight to the public—mass media, social networking—it doesn't have to be rock solid." He paused, looking self-satisfied. "Steve's heading up negotiations, and that's going pretty well for the moment, but if talks fall apart, well, we have enough material to end their little organization."

Bruce looked up at the screen in front of him, dazed. "Wow. This all looks really..." Boring.

Tony heard the unspoken word anyway. "Look, I'm sure you're tired. We can talk more later. If we need to move, I'll wake you up, but otherwise get some rest."

Bruce obliged, and was asleep within moments.

* * *

With Loki out of the way and the imminent threat to his organization quelled, Fury was feeling more reasonable than he had been at at point during their previous negotiations. Because, for the moment, he was pretty sure that the World Security Council wasn't going to have him eviscerated.

The way today had gone, Fury was willing to concede that the Hulk's actions at Loki's compound had been helpful. He was willing to concede that, without the Hulk's presence, things _may _have gone badly.

He was willing to concede that Banner was an unwilling participant in Loki's scheme; the evidence they'd found around Locklear's death spoke to that. Given the opportunity for revenge, Banner had refused to take it.

That didn't exactly reek of angry vengeance.

But Fury was unwilling to concede that the Hulk posed no threat to the general public. And he was unwilling to exculpate Stark for the part he'd played in undermining the court-ordered agreement.

As much as he'd love it if this whole mess just went away, if he did either, the World Security Council would have him by the balls. That was something he'd been trying to avoid for the last ten months.

He'd also been trying to avoid having his agency ripped open for all eyes to see.

Which is exactly what Captain Steve Fucking Rogers had just threatened him with. It kinda put him between a rock and a hard place.

"Look, Director," Rogers said, polite as ever. "We have information that indicates that the current level of oversight this organization is receiving remains inadequate, even after all the previous interventions made. Do you want me to bring this to the press?"

Fury's head was killing him. He hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep in ages. He was exhausted, and he still had to deal with Loki today. He'd been dealing with the WSC breathing down his neck for almost a year now, and he was sick of it. All this shit kept falling down on him, and none of it was his fault. He was over it.

So he stood up. "Rogers. Romanoff, Thor, Barton." He nodded at each of them in turn. "I accept the conditions of the agreement we have worked out thus far. Banner holds no responsibility for what happened to him over the last few days. As it stands, if he had been in compliance with his treatment protocol, the outcome of today's battle may not have been so favorable. So this instance of noncompliance is excused."

He paused. "But his noncompliance cannot continue, and Stark's part in all of this cannot be overlooked, either."

Rogers started to stand, to gather his belongings. The others did as well.

The fucking _nerve, _walking out on _him_?

But if he intended to save SHIELD, and maybe his job (as unlikely as that was at this point), he'd need to placate these motherfuckers.

Fury stopped them with a growled, "Look. There is no good goddamn fucking reason for me to stick my neck out for you, after what you assholes did to this organization. I don't owe you shit. But if my only options are that I give in or you're going to expose SHIELD, then I don't know what the hell you want me to do. SHIELD does more to protect the safety of this whole damn world than you know. It is _essential _that it continues functioning to its best capacity. I won't let you assholes take it down. But I can't just brush Banner and Stark under the rug without _something_. Evidence. Strong evidence that Banner doesn't pose a threat, that Stark wasn't endangering the whole damn planet by fucking with Banner's meds. I need that, because I've read the reports that Locklear sent over and I—"

Barton interrupted, a murderous look on his face. "You read the files?"

Fury shook his head, unsure where Barton's vehemence was coming from. "Not all of them. Just the summaries she sent over. Most of that stuff was overseen by the Council."

Barton and Romanoff exchanged a look with Rogers and Thor. Finally, Rogers said, "That evidence you're looking for? Check the _full _files. I think that'll more than convince you, director." He paused, then stated, "We'll be back in the morning to finish this discussion up."

They marched out of the room—Thor down to guard his brother, the others to God-knows-where—and as they left, Fury wondered _what_, exactly, he'd been missing this whole time, if they were so convinced they were right.

* * *

**Man, this weekly updating thing is making me feel nostalgic. Back for when I, you know, didn't occasionally wait a month between updates.**

**Thanks to everyone for reading, following, and favoriting!**

**Reviews are the light of my life, so let me know what you think. Please?**


	18. What He Knows Now

**Warnings: language, mostly. **

**I am, as always, infinitely grateful for my beta, irite, without whom this whole endeavor would not have happened.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

In his cell, Loki appeared sullen, standing in the center with his arms crossed across his chest, head bowed.

And Thor wanted to have this conversation, wanted to play babysitter to Loki, about as much as he wanted to attempt trimming his own hair with Mjölnir. That is to say, not at all. But being as Loki was his brother (adopted or not, Thor maintained they were kin...even to his detriment), Thor had been volunteered to this task.

He approached the cell and spoke loudly and clearly, unsure if the glass walls would distort his words. "Loki."

Loki looked up, glaring. Apparently, he wasn't any more thrilled with this situation than Thor was. "Thor. What a...cacophonous and...pleasant surprise."

His tone indicated that it was neither pleasant nor a surprise.

Thor wasn't entirely sure how to begin. This wasn't the first time he'd had to face down his megalomaniacal younger brother in a prison cell, yet somehow it never got easier. He tried again, quieter this time, "Are you well?"

"Oh yes," Loki replied graciously, with only a hint of a sneer. "Perfectly comfortable, thank you." He waved an arm around his empty cell. "These accommodations are exemplary."

Okay, so that probably wasn't the correct thing to say. Well, he might as well be direct. That suited him better by far. And the faster he got this over with the better, really. "Loki, I do not understand why—"

Loki turned away and began to pace, cutting him off. "There are a great many things you do not understand, Thor, so let us cut to the chase. You undoubtedly wish to ascertain why I acted as I have here, and will likely not accept 'I was bored' as an answer. And you will not see me out of this realm until I've explained because of some misguided loyalty to these Midgardians. Very well. Suffice to say that I saw an injustice and believed it needed to be corrected." He paused, then added, "And, well, Banner needed to see it for what it was."

"What do you mean?" Thor asked. Loki usually talked in riddles, but this was something new.

Loki rolled his eyes; obviously, explaining something this simple was trying for him. "Banner could not see the injustice that had been committed against him. It could not stand. SHIELD treating him as they did was insupportable, and he needed to understand that it was not acceptable." He shrugged. "I played a part in his ordeal, and I saw fit to correct it, if possible."

Thor considered this. It did not seem like his brother was lying about his motives, although Loki acting so selflessly was odd. And his concern for Dr. Banner was unprecedented as well. No, there had to be something else at play here. Thor prompted, "And what possible gain was there for you in this? As I see it, you have gained nothing and lost much."

Loki sneered, "I cannot just act out of the 'goodness of my heart?' No? Well, I _was _bored." Thor felt his eyes widen in disbelief, and Loki smirked. "The whole of the universe at my fingertips, and not a single thing worth doing. Seeing Banner revenge himself upon his tormentors seemed like an interesting prospect. And I am not exactly enamored with SHIELD, so any harm that might befall them was certainly not a deterrent." He paused in his pacing and admitted, "I did not expect the outcome that occurred, but I suppose even the best-laid plans sometimes falter."

Thor was surprised. One, Loki's calm acceptance of his failure was uncharacteristic. Second, he was currently swimming in information he hadn't expected to gain. Thinking Loki was misleading him for some treacherous purpose, he asked, "Why are you being so forthright, brother?"

Loki shot him a glare at the reference. "I do not exactly have much left to lose." Then he smirked. "And you are returning me to Asgard, yes?"

Thor nodded cautiously; it had been agreed that their parents were, despite their past failings, best equipped to deal with Loki.

"Then I have nothing to fear for my actions."

That was true. Odin would not see Loki executed, and imprisonment seemingly held no particular dread for him.

Loki leaned casually against one wall of his cell. "Perhaps my work here is incomplete, but I daresay it was effective enough. Banner will never again be so simple to subdue, will never again submit to shackles and bondage, and that may yet be enough revenge upon SHIELD to satisfy me. Although...I doubt it."

Thor doubted this, too. Still, for the moment, Loki was contained. He would be transported back to Asgard as soon as Thor could arrange it; that is, within a day, and what more could they do, really? Loki was unpredictable, and powerful, and very, very clever.

A bad combination.

Seemingly reading Thor's mind, Loki smiled at him, the absolute picture of innocence.

Thor sighed. He needed to report to the others.

He signaled to the camera in the corner, and a veritable squadron of SHIELD agents came almost at once, relieving Thor from his post so he could discuss what he had learned with the rest of the team.

* * *

Tony's phone rang at 9:00 PM, three hours after Bruce had gone back to sleep.

It was Steve. Again.

Rolling his eyes (because what part of 'don't call a lot' didn't Steve _get_?) and stretching out on his bed, Tony answered, "Yes, dear?"

"We're done meeting for tonight," Steve informed him, letting the 'dear' slide. "And I think Fury's going to give in. On everything."

This was news. The last time Steve had called, it had been 'Fury's not going to let your part in this slide, and he's not going to let Bruce go on uncontrolled.' So he asked, "Yeah? What changed?"

When Steve answered, he sounded abashed. "I, uh, well I might have threatened him, like we talked about. And he'd do just about anything to protect SHIELD, which includes brushing this mess under the rug." He paused, and when he resumed, he sounded annoyed. "He wanted evidence that just letting all this go wasn't going to be the end of the damn world. That he wasn't doing the wrong thing."

Tony snorted. "Right, and what he was doing before, with the drugs and shit, that was the 'right thing.'"

Steve sounded more annoyed when he answered. "Actually, it turns out Fury wasn't completely in the loop with what Locklear and the rest of the 'medical' teams were doing. They answered mostly to the World Security Council—don't ask me about it, I don't understand the chain of command, it's a mess—so he was just reading general reports that they sent over."

Tony clenched his jaw. That _asshole_ didn't _know_? He'd just signed off on all this shit without even _knowing_? To him, that didn't exculpate the director, it actually made his actions worse. "So, what, you spelled it out for him? What was going on?"

"Not exactly," Steve answered. "Clint strongly suggested he take a look at the full files. I think he will; he doesn't like not knowing everything, and he especially doesn't like having one of _us_ 'assholes' point out that he doesn't know everything."

Tony nodded to himself—it was a good point.

"Anyway," Steve went on, "We're resuming at 8:00 tomorrow morning. After he's had a chance to get a look at exactly what's been going on in their research facilities."

"Good to know," Tony said. "So, when do you think me and Sleeping Beauty can head home? Now?" The idea of getting out of this motel room was more than a little appealing.

Steve paused before suggesting, "I, well, the four of us talked about it, and we think you and Bruce should come in tomorrow. To the meeting."

Tony's mouth answered before his brain even had a chance to catch up. "Not a chance, Cap—"

"Hear me out. Fury needs to see for himself that Bruce isn't everything Locklear painted him as. And I think it'd do Bruce good to—"

"To what, punch Fury in the face? Yeah, you're right—"

"No, Stark, to face down what happened to him." He added, voice lower, "Thor says that's what Loki was trying to do, but I think it might go better if he, uh—"

"Wasn't in the middle of a giant, epic battle? Or kidnapped?" Tony mused aloud. He could see where Steve was coming from—and he couldn't _wait _to hear the details of Loki's 'master plan,'—but he didn't know if this was something they should force. Bruce seemed to be making great progress on his own, and Tony wasn't sure if getting in the middle of that would do more harm or good for the physicist. "I'll talk to him about it, how's that?"

"All I'm asking," Steve said. "Eight AM tomorrow, SHIELD."

"Sure," Tony agreed. "But what if Fury _doesn't _relent?"

And Steve sounded decidedly leader-ly when he answered, "I don't really think between the six of us that's going to be a problem. We'll manage."

"Ah, that's the Captain we know and love. Send my love to the rest of the team, darling. You heading back to the Tower tonight?"

"Yeah, except Thor. He's on guard duty, trying to arrange transport for Loki. Not sure how that works, but if he says he can do it—"

"Then he can," Tony confirmed. "All right, see you in the morning. Maybe."

He ended the call before Steve could answer, and sat up, casting a pensive look at Bruce's sleeping form. Then, deciding he'd rather run this by Bruce now rather than first thing in the morning (because he personally hated dealing with surprises in the morning) he picked up an empty water bottle and lobbed it at Bruce's bed.

It bounced off Bruce's forehead and a moment later the physicist's irritated voice mumbled, "What the _hell _are you doing?"

"Waking you up," Tony answered cheerfully. "We need to talk."

Those words hold dread for just about every person in the world, and Bruce was no exception. He sat up quickly, running a hand through his hair. "What is it? Do we need to move? I can—"

Tony raised what he hoped was a calming hand. "Chill out, dude. Let me explain."

He quickly launched into a recap of the conversation he'd just had with Steve. When he got to the part about how Fury hadn't known the specifics of what Locklear was up to, the look on Bruce's face prompted him to stop and ask, "You okay?"

Bruce nodded tersely. "Yeah. Fine. It's just...I hope reading those files is _really _enlightening for him."

Tony admired his restraint. If their positions were reversed, Tony was reasonably sure he'd be yelling. He offered a cautious, "I'm sure it will be."

"I mean," Bruce went on, as if Tony hadn't spoken, "He must have been so _damn surprised _that so many people were angry enough with SHIELD to join up with Loki. I bet he was just _floored_." Volume increasing, rapidly approaching rant-levels, Bruce continued, "Of course he couldn't see it, that they were just reaping what they sowed. Getting exactly what they deserved. He must have felt so _persecuted_. So of course he was going to be a dick about it!"

The anger, Tony thought, was entirely justified, and it was good to see Bruce actually _feeling _it and not running from it. Fury _had _fucked up. SHIELD had fucked up. A whole lot of people had fucked up, and Bruce had been on the receiving end of all of it. And he was _finally _pissed off about it. So Tony threw out supportively, egging him on a little, "It's just cause and effect, isn't it?"

"Yes!" Bruce exclaimed, practically leaping off his bed. "Exactly! But he didn't know that! He just thought that—" he stopped abruptly, looking surprised that he was standing. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, sitting down again. Much more calmly, he concluded, "He just thought that they were all bad people, doing what they did because they were bad. And I'm not defending them—they _were _bad people. But it's not that simple."

Tony shook his head. "Maybe not." Then, seeing as Bruce's outpouring appeared to be done, Tony leaned back against his pillows and stated casually, "Steve and the others are finishing up the meeting tomorrow morning, after Fury's had a chance to look into that stuff. They want us to come with them."

Bruce started to object (probably on exactly the same grounds Tony had when Steve had told _him _the plan) so before he could get too far, Tony added, "I think we should."

Stunned into silence, Bruce cocked his head to one side, and Tony explained, "Look, it'll show that we're not afraid, we're going to stand up for ourselves."

For another moment, Bruce didn't speak. Tony worried that he'd been too pushy—though he felt he hadn't pushed at all—or that this was something that, despite his progress, Bruce was still unable or unwilling to do.

So he was surprised when, after several beats of silence, Bruce nodded once, authoritatively. "Yeah. You're right. I need to do this. I'm...not going to live the rest of my life afraid of what they might do to me." He chuckled darkly. "I _know _what they can do to me. And what they did...it didn't help." He looked Tony in the eyes and finished, "I'm not going back there. And I'm not taking their drug. I might always be dangerous, but there has to be a better way. I'm not...I made a mistake. I've made a lot of them. But I didn't deserve what they did." He stopped, then added softly, "Right?"

Inside, Tony was cheering. Because this was what he'd been trying to get Bruce to realize for the entirety of their relationship. Everyone fucked up. Everyone made mistakes that haunted them for the rest of their lives. That didn't mean that they deserved to be abused, treated like an animal. Worse than an animal. Outwardly, though, all he said was, "Yeah, you're right. You gonna tell Fury that?"

After a short pause, Bruce nodded again. He asked, "What if, um, Fury doesn't want to hear that?"

Tony flopped over on his side, getting comfortable, eminently satisfied with how today had ended. "There's always Mexico. Now go to sleep. Big day tomorrow and all." One way or another—whether Bruce would be able to stand up for himself or not (and Tony hoped he would)—shit was going to go down.

"I _was _asleep, Tony," Bruce pointed out.

Tony waved him off. "Quiet. I saved the world today or something, I'm tired."

A small, irritated sigh was Bruce's only response.

* * *

Bruce managed to sleep through most of the night. He knew he was exhausted, but given the amount of stress and apprehension he had about his morning meeting, he was still surprised by how well he'd slept.

When he woke up at 6:00 AM, Tony was quizzically poking at the coffee pot by the sink outside the bathroom. Seeing Bruce was awake, he announced in a loud mumble, "I don't believe this machine actually produces coffee."

Sighing, Bruce pulled himself out of bed and crossed the room. After a moment's puzzling, he managed to get the pot brewing. He informed Tony, "You're hopeless. You'd better hope today goes okay, because I can't imagine you trying to take care of yourself in a third-world country."

Tony was too busy watching the coffee drip into the pot to respond beyond an offended huff.

Deciding Tony was probably not going to be up for conversation until he'd had at least a cup, Bruce made his way towards the bathroom. He paused to ask over his shoulder, "Do I have clothes, or am I going to SHIELD in these pajamas?" As fashionable as they were, he didn't think they came off as particularly authoritative.

Tony made a vague gesture towards a mystery suitcase in the corner and Bruce sighed but wandered over to it and undid the latch. He found what he recognized as his own clothing on top and pulled it out, heading once again for the shower.

He stayed in long enough that the residual muscle aches from his last transformation had faded to a dull throb before shutting off the water.

As he dried off and got dressed in the closet of a bathroom, he couldn't help but wonder if he was doing the right thing. The conviction he'd felt last night, half-asleep and angry at Fury's mistakes, had faded somewhat with sleep and distance. He still felt angry, and he still thought that SHIELD could shove off, but he wasn't sure that rubbing it in their face was really the best way to go. Added to that...even though he _felt _he was in the right, he just couldn't know for sure. Probably never would, at least, not until he learned to _trust _himself again. So he really, really didn't want to walk into SHIELD, to face them head on, not with how uncertain he still was.

_But_, he rationalized, _You need to face this._ _You need to get it out __of __the way. Tony's right. Show them you're not afraid, that you're not going to let them— _

His mind tried to avoid the thought, but he forced himself to continue.

—_torture you anymore. They can't without your permission, you _know _that, so don't give it to them_. _Trust yourself._

Bruce's little pep-talk was interrupted by Tony pounding on the door and yelling, "Come on, Princess, some of us have a beauty routine here!"

Instead of pointing out that _he _wasn't the princess with the beauty routine, Bruce opened the door, still toweling off his hair. "Sorry, Tony."

Tony brushed past him. "Whatever."

It occurred to Bruce that maybe Tony was feeling nervous, too, although it was hard to imagine Tony ever being nervous about anything. More likely, he was just cranky because it was absurdly early and all he'd had to drink was crappy motel coffee.

Faster than he thought possible (and faster than Bruce really would have liked), Tony was ready to go. Looking in a mirror and trying to fix his goatee, he said, "I called Steve while you were in the shower, the whole team's going to swing by and pick us up. Well, except Thor." He nodded at the briefcase next to the suitcase on the floor. "Unless you'd prefer the damsel-in-distress express?"

Bruce felt that the only way he'd ever willingly travel via Tony's suit was if he was unconscious. So he shook his head. "No, car's fine with me."

Tony smirked. "Figured."

"If you flew us here from Loki's compound," Bruce asked cautiously as something occurred to him, "Where did the suitcase of clothes come from?"

With a grimace, Tony answered, "I owe Pepper one hell of a favor. Again. She's always so _fussy _when I'm on the run from the law..."

Bruce didn't answer that (the relationship between those two was something he was probably never going to understand), and a moment later, there was a knock on the door. Bruce answered it.

Clint was standing outside, sunglasses firmly in place, looking far more cool and collected than Bruce felt was possible for this occasion. He gestured over his shoulder and said, "Nat's parked over there, wouldn't want to keep her waiting." He leaned in and confided, "She's a little testy this morning."

"She's a little testy every morning," Tony said, breezing past, briefcase in hand. Bruce picked up the suitcase and followed suit, knots in his stomach that he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

Clint shut the door behind them, then said to Bruce, "Nervous?"

"Does it show?" Bruce asked, flattening a non-existent wrinkle in his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

"Nope," Clint answered with a ghost of a smirk, shoving his hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. "Not at all."

The three of them made their way over to the SUV parked at the edge of the lot, and even though it was a tight squeeze, the five of them managed to fit in. As soon as they were settled, Steve (who was in the passenger's seat) began to give a rundown of the previous day's meeting and what sorts of things they could expect today.

Bruce tried to pay attention, but he was too nervous, and consequently spent the entire ride monitoring his own vital signs for any sign of danger. He felt tense, but there wasn't even a rumble from the Other Guy.

Not even when they pulled into the parking lot at SHIELD.

_That's because you can control this. You know you can._

There was doubt, of course—he wondered if there ever _wouldn't _be—but Bruce rationalized that if he could handle Loki manhandling him and throwing him down a flight of stairs, he could probably manage a meeting.

Probably.

Natasha turned off the car and looked behind her. "You guys ready for this?"

Tony answered exuberantly, "Sure am. Look, it can't be that bad, right? If Fury was going to murder us in our sleep or something, he's had plenty of opportunities."

Bruce found his optimism a little jarring, but he answered evenly, "Let's just get this over with."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, doc," Steve said, opening his door.

The looks they got as they made their way up to Fury's office were cold. Once or twice, Bruce thought he saw people going for their cell phones, but no alarms started to blare, and he took that as a good sign.

They picked Thor up about halfway through the building, and as they walked, he told them about the current plans for Loki's transport and containment. Again, Bruce tried to focus on the conversation but ultimately couldn't. What was Loki, really, when he was about to face down the _government_? He might take Loki over that any day...

When they got to Fury's office, they strode through the outer office and, with a cursory look at Fury's receptionist (who just stared back, open-mouthed, hand on the receiver of her phone), Steve knocked on the door to Fury's office.

The receptionist tried to choke something out—it sounded like 'Wait'—but Steve just ignored her and threw open the office door and went in.

The others followed.

Fury was standing with his back to them in the middle of the room and, displayed on several screens around him, were the shadowy faces of the World Security Council.

Bruce felt his stomach clench. The nerves he'd been feeling all morning spiked. And suddenly, he was angry, too. Because here were the people who _had _known what was going on with his 'treatment,' the people who had maybe even developed the whole thing. The real 'bad guys' who had, in one way or another, been the fuel on the fire of Loki's crusade. The ones who had been behind it, really, but would never, ever have to answer for _anything_.

As they entered, the conversation went silent, and Fury turned around calmly and looked at them. Evenly, he said, "Good morning. I was just discussing some finer points of the files I read last night with the Council." He looked over his shoulder. "They assure me that everything they did was entirely ethical and necessary." Fury looked at each of the Avengers in turn before focusing on Bruce. "I'm not sure I agree."

Bruce swallowed, the phrase 'entirely ethical and necessary' echoing in his mind.

He could feel the eyes of the others on him, the eyes of Fury and the Council, too, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Everything he'd _meant _to say had vanished, lost somewhere between his burgeoning anger and shock.

One of the woman on the screens spoke up, "You see, Fury? That monster has no shame, no care for the safety of anyone else. It is parading around like—"

Tony spoke up, "Wow, uh, don't know who you are, but you probably want to shut the hell up—"

Bruce interrupted _him, _finally having gathered his wits. That woman's words had punched him in the gut, had reminded him _exactly _what he wanted to say, and he spat out, "I'm not a monster."

He paused, surprised he had spoken. No one else said anything, apparently similarly stunned. So, this bad idea finally underway, he decided he might as well add, "And I'm not going to let you treat me like one." Gaining steam, he threw out, "And if you think you are—"

Fury flicked his wrist, somehow turning the screens off. Bruce turned to him instead, snarling, "What the hell—"

Fury frowned. "Dr. Banner, those are not people you want to threaten."

The honorific caught his attention. Not many people referred to him as 'Dr. Banner' these days, especially those affiliated with SHIELD. Diverted from his rant, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting backwards from ten silently.

As he did that, Steve spoke up, "Are we to understand that we're seeing eye-to-eye on this issue now, director?"

Tony butted in, "Because we damn well better be, and that 'I'm not sure I agree' schtick is bullshit—"

Natasha quieted him with an elbow to the side, which gave Bruce an opening. He took it. "Director, I will not—"

Fury interrupted him. "Look. I want this to go away." He looked from Bruce to Tony, to Steve before settling back on Bruce. "You have no idea how much I want that. This shit with Loki has been a disaster, and we're _still _under investigation from the shit he—" he gestured at Tony, "—pulled. _That's _not going to go away, so if _this _can, I would love it."

That silenced all of the Avengers.

Fury nodded at Thor. "You've assured me that your brother will be out of our hair soon. We can close the book on him and his plans."

Thor agreed, "Yes, that is so."

Fury went on, moving to sit behind his desk. "We've contained most of his damn allies. Which clears up almost all of this problem. Except you, Banner." He nodded towards Tony. "And you, of course."

Bruce swallowed again, nervously. He had a feeling that he knew what Fury was going to say, but he was still on edge. Still apprehensive.

"Regarding your treatment, the Council did what they thought was necessary—"

Here, Tony couldn't resist interjecting. "Oh, yeah, right, that's exactly what—"

Fury spoke over him, "And they may or may not have been correct in what they did."

Bruce saw red, then, but he also understood. _Really _understood. He wasn't going to get an apology. Fury wasn't going to admit he'd been wrong, that the Council had been wrong. Bruce might know it, now, but he'd never actually _hear _the words spoken. Because that's not how these organizations worked. They weren't held accountable, never would be.

"The Council," Fury continued into the tense silence, "Feels that you need to be contained, preferably in their facility and on their medication. They think that Stark belongs in jail for endangering all of humanity or some shit." He shuffled some papers on his desk, then stated unequivocally, "I have told them that is not going to happen."

"What, and that just flew?" Natasha asked, skeptical.

Fury shook his head. "No. But I explained to them that you assholes are a threat to my organization, and consequently, to them. I let them know that if my organization was exposed in a negative manner, I would not hesitate to expose them as well. They were...not pleased."

Bruce understood that to be the understatement of the year.

"But they are unwilling to risk losing their position in the world, when it comes down to it. And so they've come to agree with me."

The air quotes are 'agree' were almost audible.

"This is how we're going to proceed." Fury looked at Tony. "First, Stark. I never want to see you again. And stop hacking my servers, for Christ's sake."

Tony positively bounced on the balls of his feet, an impressive feat considering how much the briefcase in his hand had to weigh. "Works for me. But you might want to get better security—"

"Second, Banner. You're free to go. As far as I—and the Council—are concerned, this shit never happened. So maybe try not to do anything to remind us that it did."

For a moment, Bruce felt elated. This was what he'd wanted. His freedom. But then the director's words sunk in fully. This really was just going to _go away_. It had never happened. They were never going to admit they were wrong, they were never going to apologize, and they were never going to offer him _anything _for what they'd taken from him_._ No reparations of any kind. They'd taken _nine months_ of his life from him, and all he was going to get in return was the 'incident' erased from the record.

Plus, that threat at the end...vague, but definitely there. Definitely letting him know that his freedom was conditional. Depended on SHIELD's good will.

That stung.

Would that be enough? Just his freedom? Conditional, yes, but otherwise complete.

Bruce thought about it for a good five seconds, before he answered with a terse, "Fine." Because this _was _what he'd wanted. A chance to live his life again.

Fury considered him for a moment before he spoke. "Good. Then all previous contracts and agreements regarding Dr. Banner are now void."

"Can you just do that?" Clint interjected, looking disbelieving.

"Not quite," Fury amended. "The lawyers will have to work something out. But they _will be _void."

"I want that in writing," Tony demanded.

With a beleaguered sigh, Fury lifted a document off his desk and offered it up. "Done."

Tony snatched it and scanned it quickly. "Fine. We done here?"

"Are we?" Fury asked, looking at Bruce.

Bruce bit his bottom lip. Now would be the time to demand the apology, demand that all his grievances be righted. But he wasn't going to do it. He knew that, really. He'd gotten what he wanted, more than he still kind of thought he deserved, so he'd take it.

"Yeah," he affirmed. "We're done."

* * *

It took two weeks for it to become official. SHIELD had to clean up after Loki, had to process all of their new-slash-old detainees under the watchful eyes of the court. Loki himself had to be taken care of. But two weeks after the meeting with Fury, Bruce found himself in court again.

This time, he was not drugged. This time, he followed the proceedings intently. And this time, he left as a completely free man.

At least, as much as he ever _could be _free, between knowing that the ever-present eyes of SHIELD and the Council were on him and the shackles of his own creation.

The Other Guy, namely. He was still there, of course, lurking beneath the surface. Bruce was finally beginning to accept that he always would be. That he'd always have the potential to be a monster.

But then, what human didn't?

It wasn't that simple, of course, and Bruce knew that he would always have to be careful, tread with caution, but now he knew that he _could _control it, that he could _live _with it.

It was more than he'd ever had before.

So he settled into life at Stark Tower. He ran his experiments, still looking cursorily for a cure—something he just couldn't give up, something he probably never would. He helped Tony when the billionaire needed him (and sometimes when he didn't—pestering Tony was fun), and spent his free time enjoying the most calm, peaceful existence he'd had since before his accident.

It was strange, living so normally. More strange was the belief that was actually where he belonged.

He'd spent so long trying to protect other people from himself, trying to keep himself under control, being always on guard for the slightest threat to his equilibrium and willing to do anything—_anything—_to keep everyone around him safe. It had been all he'd known for years, but now...now he was finally coming to place where he could see that he didn't need to. Didn't _need _to hate himself, didn't need to fight against himself, didn't need to beat himself down because he 'deserved' it.

It was a hard idea to get used to, and one that Bruce knew was going to take time, and practice. Learning to trust himself, learning that he _could_...that was hard. And he suspected that some parts of himself—those ugly parts that had dictated his life for so long—would never be completely gone.

Maybe that was okay.

Part of him worried that nothing good lasts forever, and part of him was always worried about his next 'incident,' but his friends assured him that he, and they, could handle that if and when they had to.

Bruce hoped they'd never have to.

But if they did...that would be okay, too. Because he wasn't a monster, a freak. He wasn't dangerous. Or...maybe he was. But he wasn't _only _those things. He was more than the Other Guy, more than a mistake he'd made, once upon a time.

He knew that, now.

**End**

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who's read this, and Just a Tool. You're all the best!**

**I'm not going to say a third story in the series is completely out of the question, but for the moment, I don't intend for there to be one. Bruce is about where I want him, and I'm pretty satisfied with that. Still, the **_**second **_**I say definitively that there won't be another one, there will be, so…**

**Thanks again for sticking around, for reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting, and to quote the Beatles, I hope that you've enjoyed the show.**

**Oh, and one more plea for reviews, of course. Please?**


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